Madison Avenue
by Knilb17
Summary: Takes place several months after the finale. Ross and Rachel are engaged and beginning the next portion of their lives. Some chapters R.
1. Chapter 1

Caution: Extreme "cutsieness" ahead. This chapter is my gift to you because 1) I felt like starting this story off with something light, fluffy and fun and 2) because I'm not sure where it's going yet :-) Enjoy for now, though.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
She awoke to the smell of fresh Cuban coffee beans.  
  
Rolling over with a start, she brushed the hair from her eyes and glanced at the clock-radio on the bedside end table.  
  
9:50 a.m.  
  
Relieved and lackadaisical, she let her head fall back into the cushion of the feather pillow beneath her, a smile on her face and silently thanking God for Saturdays. She hadn't quite yet slipped back into the cloudy lull of sleep when she felt him stir beside her.  
  
His scent was the next thing to register with her after the motion he inspired. He smelled like strategically-faint cologne, sex and bed sheets. His smell was the same as it had always been, only somehow more mature and more stable. You could smell the difference between a two-bedroom apartment shared with a girlfriend and a three-bedroom penthouse shared with a fiancee on his skin and it made her smile.  
  
She rolled over to face him, draping an arm and leg across his firm body and settling her head into the niche between his shoulder and neck, never even opening her eyes to acknowledge either of their consciousnesses. She didn't want to be disturbed by any responsibility or certainty--not even the certainty of the new day. Not yet. For now, she just wanted to lie in bed with him, talking and cuddling and touching.  
  
She felt his hand move from the mattress to her back, stroking warmth into her skin. She felt his other arm reach down, pulling up the mass of sheets and down comforter they'd kicked off during the night and laying it over them. She felt him pull her steadily and more securely on top of him, settling both hands on her back and waist and intertwining their legs together. She looked up, resting her chin on his chest so she could see him, but her hair fell across her face and into her eyes. He chuckled aloud. She loved the sound of his laugh, especially first thing in the morning.  
  
"We are going to have to do something about those bangs of yours," he whispered, his voice a bit crackly and muffled.  
  
"I thought you liked them."  
  
"I do, but I like your face more, and they're blocking it," he joked, reaching up and brushing them from her eyes for her. She brought her hands up to rest them flat on his chest beneath her chin, raising her head level with his and smiling widely at him.  
  
"Morning," she whispered, because it was never too late for a 'good morning'.  
  
"Morning." He leaned forward a bit and kissed her nose and then her lips, letting his head fall lazily back onto the pillow and closing his eyes in a mock sleep.  
  
"Hey, come back here," she whined playfully, tapping his shoulder a bit. "I want to talk." He opened one eye, looking up at her and grinning mischievously.  
  
"That's not what you want from me, woman," he kidded, earning him a more firm slap on the shoulder this time. In retaliation, he whirled them over quickly, so that she was now laying beneath him and he was supporting himself above her on his elbows. They said nothing, just glared into each other's eyes, smiling lovingly and gratefully. He bent down and kissed her passionately, with the kind of kiss that would normally precede sex, but that was unlikely this morning. After a solid few moments, she placed her hands on his chest and pushed him away a bit.  
  
"Nuh uh, mister. Emma's going to be awake soon," she warned, grinning at the endearment of his obvious disappointment. Frustrated, he collapsed on top of her, letting his weight fall down from his elbows and into her body. She giggled--a real, girlie, Rachel giggle.  
  
"You're toying with me, Rachel Karen Green," he mumbled into her shoulder, punctuating the statement by kissing her there. She smoothed her hands over his back and closed her eyes again, getting lost in the moment. She knew they had to get up and start the day. Emma would be up soon and would undoubtedly have one million and one ideas of how to spend that particular Saturday and she and Ross both had work to catch up on, on top of that. She never wanted to move, though, and probably wouldn't have if she hadn't heard the soft knock on the bedroom door.  
  
"I knew she wouldn't last until 10," Rachel mumbled to Ross, pushing him up but to no avail. "Ross, get up," she lamented, insisting that he move so she could greet their daughter. He was in a playful mood this morning, though, and was not having it. Finally, she called out to Emma, anyway.  
  
"Come in, sweety." On cue, the recently 3-year-old came padding into the room clad in pink footy pajamas and wiping the sleep from her eyes.  
  
"Hi, Mommy," she whispered, her voice soft and smooth and everything you'd expect from an adorable little girl her age. Rachel smiled broadly and patted the mattress next to where she and Ross were laying. Emma looked hesitant and a bit confused, though.  
  
"What's wrong with Daddy?" she asked, obviously referring to the way he was laying apparently lifeless atop Rachel. Upon hearing this, he turned his head towards his daughter and smiled, still refusing to move, however.  
  
"Nothing's wrong, honey. I'm just giving Mommy a big hug," he tried to explain in terms he thought she would understand. Emma seemed to accept this explanation, smiling and running to the bed, crawling up to her parents and sitting beside them.  
  
"Do I get a hug, too?" she asked, her voice small and hopeful. This broke his heart and made it swell, all at once. He sat up a bit.  
  
"Well, of COURSE you do. Just let me make sure Mommy's been hugged sufficiently, first." With that, he wrapped both arms back around Rachel, practically smothering her to himself and pushing her down into the mattress from where she had been propped up. He buried his head in her neck, biting and kissing her there, causing Rachel to giggle and squirm beneath him. Emma watched her parents in amazement, beaming proudly.  
  
"Daddy, you're silly!" she exclaimed, laughing and clapping her hands together a bit from all the excitement.  
  
"Am I?" he asked, picking his daughter up in one sweeping motion and landing her on his lap. She laughed boldly, wiggling as he tickled her. Finally, he stopped and wrapped both arms around her tightly, making a sound effect as if he were using all his strength. "There. Good enough hug for you?" She nodded in approval and climbed off his lap and back onto the bed.  
  
"Come on, let's have breakfast!" she proposed, almost demanding it. Both Ross and Rachel couldn't help but grin at their daughter's take-charge attitude and persistence. She could conquest any room she was in, if not by command then by seducing everyone with her gorgeous, adorable looks. Suddenly becoming very aware of the fact that they were both naked beneath the sheets, though, they almost simultaneously fastened the white comforter to them more securely.  
  
"Hmm, I'll tell you what," Rachel proposed. "Why don't you go out and turn on the cartoons and Daddy and I will there in a few minutes, okay?"  
  
"Will Daddy make pancakes?" she asked, still deciding if she was going to be content with this suggestion.  
  
"Daddy will make pancakes," she affirmed, not even checking with Ross but knowing intuitively it would be okay. Emma nodded and smiled with approval, climbing off the bed and fleeing from the room. Rachel waited until she heard the whistling and clamoring of cartoons coming from the living room before she got up to close the door.  
  
"Yowza!" Ross exclaimed, watching her saunter away from the bed. Rachel turned around, rolling eyes and shaking her head.  
  
"You're hopeless."  
  
"Yeah," he agreed, crawling from the bed and walking slowly towards where she was at the door of their bedroom. "'Hopelessly devoted to yoouuuu'" he sang, Greece style, placing his hands on her waist and leaning in to kiss her neck. Rachel wrapped her arms around his back in return but still shook her head.  
  
"It barely worked for John Travolta, Ross. It's not working for you." He pulled back and threw her a pretend hurt look, grasping his chest as if he'd just taken a bullet.  
  
"That one cut deep."  
  
"I'm sorry," she apologized, batting her eyelashes seductively and squeezing him more tightly. "What could I ever do to make it up to you?" He pondered this for a hot second before submitting his answer.  
  
"Hit the showers, Green."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
After a joint shower (to save water, of course), Ross and Rachel joined their daughter in the living room. She was sitting in her latest favorite toy--a brown cardboard box. They'd moved into the new apartment on Madison Avenue almost a month previously, but Emma still insisted on dragging that box around with her everywhere, sitting in it and playing it in at all opportunity. Ross frequently joked about how he wished he had known how easy she was to please before they'd spent hundreds of dollars on all those new, expensive toys sitting in her room that she practically trampled on her way to "her box".  
  
Moving. That had been the first and most recent commission in their new life together. Immediately after Monica and Chandler moved out of the city, Ross and Rachel began apartment hunting for something larger, a bit nicer and more convenient in terms of transportation for their jobs. They knew they didn't want to leave the city just yet. They both worked intensely in Manhattan and didn't want to have to worry about the commute to and from the suburbs. They'd found this 3-bedroom penthouse on Madison Avenue almost immediately, and since the landlord was the brother of one of Ross' close colleagues, they got a fairly reasonable deal on it.  
  
Rachel had insisted on Ross letting her, Monica and Phoebe decorate it themselves, and since he couldn't possibly be more disinterested in that sort of thing, he complied willingly. The only conflict in terms of furnishings had come when Ross insisted that he be able to keep most of his artifacts, fossils and, as Rachel called it, "other dinosaur crap". The compromise came with the agreement to turn the third bedroom off the living room into an office where they could both do their at-home work, and also where Ross could display as much of his "collectables" as he'd like.  
  
In the end, the apartment had turned out quite elegantly. As expected, the entire home looked like it had been picked room-by-room from a Pottery Barn catalogue, but it was up to date and rather stylish. The living room, where they were standing, was very open with a raised ceiling and lots of light and plants. The entire exterior wall that lined the back of the room was one big window, looking out over the city. The walls were covered in white paneling and the floors in hardwood, giving off a very sophisticated but comfortable look. The furnishings included a large, Navy blue sectional couch with white end tables on either side, a bright red accent chair, white wooden shelves lining one entire wall that was filled with books and black and white picture frames, a glass coffee table in front of the couch, and a big black floor lamps. Ross' favorite piece, however, was the silver 36' Sony plasma flat-screened TV that was mounted on the wall over the fire place's mantel. Chandler and Monica (mostly Chandler) had given it to them (mostly Ross) as a house-warming present. Complimenting Ross' favorite item, though, was Rachel's: the vases filled with yellow and white lilies that could be found on the coffee table and end tables. She also liked the afghan thrown over the chair and the contemporary paintings on the walls--anything that made the home seem more personal.  
  
The kitchen was located directly off the living room to the back left. It was also open and airy with no door separating it from the rest of the house. To compensate for the white wooden walls of the living room, it was painted a dark, "ox blood" red. Ross called it a "manly" kitchen because of all the stainless steel appliances, the matching hardwood floors from the living room, the huge black and white Picasso cubism painting "Guernica" on the wall, the long black 8-seater table with matching black chairs, the Gothic black chandelier and the matching black candleholders. Rachel's favorite aspect of the kitchen, however, was that the balcony was right off it so they could eat with the doors open on a nice night.  
  
The master bedroom where they'd just come from was similar in style to the living room and could be found off the left side of it when you entered the home, down a small secluded hallway to allot extra privacy. The walls were the same white paneling but the furniture, instead of white, was stained mahogany. They slept in a queen-sized sleigh bed, while matching end tables, a dresser, an armour, and shelves filled the room as well. A small white chair sat in the corner to match the sheer white curtains, the white sheets and the white down comforter. The only accent color in the room was an elegant dark green, which trimmed the pillows on the bed, the throw pillows on the chair and the sheets.  
  
Attached to the bedroom was the master bath, which Rachel had let Ross and Chandler toy with during the designing stages. Obviously, it turned out with less imagination than the rest of the house but had a surprisingly elegant, relaxing and gentle quality about it. It had the same red walls as the kitchen, which Rachel had not been crazy about at first, but the plethora of scented candles, black marble countertops and especially the black framed pictures of Emma he had placed about personally as a surprise to her made up for that. It was also equipped with a Jacuzzi and an extra large shower, something Rachel had deemed unnecessarily pricey at first, but had enjoyed thoroughly since they'd moved in.  
  
Emma's bedroom was Rachel's favorite feature of the house, because it was unique, in a way, to the design of the apartment. The people who had owned the space before them had an addition put onto the apartment, making it different than any other in the building. A small loft above the living room had been added on, which had served the last tenants as a music studio, but now was used for Emma. The stairs to the space were open and wound up spirally around what looked like a fire pole in the back, right-hand corner of the living room. There was no door at the top, so it lead directly into her room. This was convenient for Ross and Rachel to keep an eye on her because there was no wall obstructing the room from view while downstairs, only a safety railing. That way, they could still watch her even if she was playing upstairs. The walls up there were painted a light yellow and the theme of the room was ducks, as they were printed on her sheets, blankets and curtains. A miniature white wooden bed and matching white miniature furniture took up the area, as well as shelves and shelves full of toy and books.  
  
The study was the last room of the apartment, which was also the only room found to the right of the living room, opposite the hallway to Ross and Rachel's bedroom. It had been the one that caused the most tension and arguments during production, as it was the one that they both had equal say in. After weeks of debating, dozens of "vetoes" and even a few yelling matches, they'd been able to come to an agreement. The room would have white walls with thick, vertical dark gray stripes, black desks and book shelves, a black leather couch and a few tropical plants. They'd discovered Rachel's taste to be "too flashy" and Ross' to be "too generic", so they'd decided to go with the minimal but almost the most fashionable.  
  
All in all, their house was a perfect reflection of themselves. It was open and inviting but also personal and homey, with various knick-knacks from their old lives and from their new one. Books lines the shelves they they'd read in high school and a few coffee cups resided in the cabinets that Gunther had let them buy from Central Perk when they moved away from the Village. The home was everything they wanted and even when they projected into their future to years from now, they couldn't see ever leaving it.  
  
"Can you make Mickey Mouse?" Emma asked, not even tearing her eyes from the television to look over her shoulder at her father, who was puttering around in the kitchen in search of the skillet.  
  
"I sure can, sweety," he called back, his voice muffled because his head was inside one of the bottom cabinets in the island in the middle of the kitchen. "Where is that damn thing?" he muttered to himself.  
  
"Mickey Mouse?" Rachel asked from the other side of the island, toweling her damp hair off.  
  
"Yeah, it's not hard, you just put the batter in- ah, DAMMIT!" He cut himself off when a big pot shifted and landed on his hand.  
  
"Daddy said dammit!" Emma shouted from the kitchen to Rachel. She always reported when Ross cursed to Rachel because something inside her was amused by it. Rachel stifled a snicker, looking down at the floor to hide the smile creeping across her face.  
  
"Tattle tail!" Ross called to his daughter.  
  
"I wonder what the weather's going to be like today. Maybe we could go to the park or shopping or something," Rachel mused.  
  
"Why don't you go turn the Weather Channel on in the study. They should be reporting it right about now. Emma, do you want chocolate chip eyes and a mouth or no?" Ross was becoming increasingly good at multi-tasking. After three years of having to split his attention between two girls, usually equally and usually at the same time, he'd become pretty good at it.  
  
"Chocolate chips!" Emma answered. Ross rolled his eyes.  
  
"Of course. Stupid question."  
  
A few minutes later, Rachel strolled back across the living room and into the kitchen from the study. Ross was cooking up a stack of pancakes at least a foot high. She watched him work for a moment, admiring the concentration he allotted to even such a medial task. He'd slung a rag over his shoulder, rolled up the sleeves of the white dress shirt he'd put on after the shower and was flipping the pancakes on the spatula with one hand, his gaze fixed steadfastly on the job at hand. She smiled and walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his middle and patting his stomach lightly.  
  
"It's going to be a nice day. You want to take Emma outside somewhere?" she purred.  
  
"That'd be nice," he consented, nodding in agreement. "Where do you want to go? The park? The zoo?" Before she could answer, the telephone rang. Rachel picked up the cordless sitting beside her on the counter.  
  
"Hello? Oh, hey Joey!" she exclaimed, a huge smile spreading across her face. Ross glanced over at her upon hearing his friend's name, sending Rachel an intrigued, excited look. "Oh, we're just up and making pancakes. What are you doing? Isn't it only like 7 there?" After a brief pause, Rachel nearly jumped up and down with enthusiasm. "Oh, honey, that's great! I can't believe you didn't tell us sooner! Don't you tell me you called Monica and Chandler before us. I was your old roommate. I deserve to know first!"  
  
"What is it?" Ross whispered, especially curious now. Rachel put her hand over the receiver.  
  
"Joey's starting his first day of shooting on a movie today!"  
  
"Oh, really? Wow! Ask him who else is in it." Rachel nodded and went back to the conversation.  
  
"Who else is going to be in it, Joe?" She waited for a moment, listening intently. "Oh, God, wow! That's incredible. Ross, he says Ray Liotta and Liv Tyler! Isn't that incredible?"  
  
"Yeah! Hey, give me the phone for a second." Ross held out his free hand while Rachel handed him the phone. He propped it between his head and shoulder. "Hey, man! Some news, huh? Tell me, though, is Liv Tyler even hotter in real life?" Before Joey had time to answer, Rachel punched him in the arm, causing him to let out a shout. "Yeah, she punched me," Ross noted. "It's okay, you can just tell me later." He smiled at Rachel, who rolled her eyes but also cracked a small laugh.  
  
"Okay, well if you've got to be getting back to work, call us soon and tell us how it's going. Alright, man. Take it easy. Bye." Ross handed the phone back to Rachel, who placed it back on the charger.  
  
"I'm so happy for him," Rachel stated sincerely, shaking her head and looking pensive. "He deserved a big break."  
  
"You know, I really think this could be it for him. I can see it being even better than Days Of Our Lives, you know? Like, this could be what REALLY gets him into show business."  
  
"Oh, Ross, could you imagine if he won like an Academy Award? He could thank us at the ceremony! This is all so exciting!" she insisted, tugging on his shirt sleeve and jumping up and down like a little girl. Ross laughed out loud at her girlishness and nodded his head in agreement.  
  
"Yeah, yeah it is. We've got to get going if we're going to do anything today, though, so go get Emma and we'll eat breakfast really fast."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"I think there's a garage somewhere down that street," Rachel offered, pointing to a narrow side alley off of W. 57th. Ross pulled the silver Audi TT Roadster quattro they'd purchased a few months prior to the move around the bend, onto the side street and into the parking garage. Once he, Rachel and Emma were all out of the vehicle, he tipped the man and they began walking towards the park.  
  
"Jesus, I've lived here all my life and I still can't believe how expensive this city is," he commented, mostly in reference to the high cost of parking. "You have to tip everyone for everything."  
  
"At least we don't have to worry about gas as much, because we're only ever driving 10 blocks or so." Rachel paused after her comment and laughed a bit, shaking her head. "Will you listen to us? We're so..."  
  
"Grown up?" he asked, finishing her sentence for her. She nodded, pointing at sleeping Emma in Ross' arms.  
  
"I mean, we HAVE one of those. We made her. How incredible and hard to believe is that?" She looked down at the ground as they walked, obviously lost in thought. Ross reached over with the hand he wasn't using to hold their daughter and grabbed his fiance by the wrist.  
  
"Not so hard to believe."

The air in the park somehow seemed less dense than the air everywhere else in Manhattan that day. Birds were actually chirping and roosting in the tree branches that hung above their heads. Ross couldn't remember the last bird (besides a pigeon) he'd seen. Children were laughing and playing and flying kites, young lovers were walking hand-in-hand, old couples were sitting beside one another on benches, college students were reading and studying quietly in the shade and food venders were wheeling their carts around the outskirts of the grassy field.  
  
Ross and Rachel were lying down underneath the shade of a tree, propped up on their sides and watching Emma play by herself in the sand several feet away. They were enthralled and completely in love with her--this whole person they'd created together--and sat in simple silence for long stretches of time just watching her live and breath in all her glory.  
  
"She's really gorgeous, isn't she?" Ross asked, his voice just barely above a whisper. His eyes were narrowed and his gaze intense, all of his concentration focus onto that tiny little person before him. Rachel loved how fascinated and in love with their daughter Ross was. She could see it in the way he looked and interacted with her. Once, when she'd visited him at NYU a few weeks ago, she's inadvertently encountered one of the University Deans who was above Ross. They'd only been talking for a few seconds when the man had brought up Emma and Ross' fascination with her.  
  
"He's so proud of her, he can't stand it," the man had told Rachel, smiling fondly as he recalled the three or four framed picture Ross had on his desk of their daughter and her together. "He's so in love with the both of you," he'd added afterwards. "You're all he ever talks about."  
  
For some reason, that had moved Rachel to tears. She'd gone to the bathroom and cried for several minutes before entering Ross' classroom that day. The knowledge that this man--so intelligent and sexy and ambitious--was more dedicated to her and their baby than anything else in his life astounded her daily. What was more, he'd loved her long before she'd reciprocated the sentiment. He'd love her before she'd even known about it. What had made him stick with her for so long? What had he seen in her that made him never give up, never move on and fight for her until the end?  
  
And now, here they were--one, big happy family, and all because he'd seen it in them from the beginning.  
  
She reached over and put her hand in his, causing him to tear his eyes from Emma and place them on her. He saw the tears beginning to form in her eyes, but they were canceled out by the ever-present smile on her face and glimmer in her eyes.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice so small he'd scarcely heard her and the words had seemed more mouthed than said.  
  
"For what?" he asked, genuinely confused by her sudden serious demeanor.  
  
"For giving me all of this. For seeing it before I ever could. For still seeing it after I refused to. For not giving up when everyone else did. Just...thank you."  
  
Ross was a bit perturbed by her sudden seriousness, but he simply smiled and grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the soft skin there. Meanwhile, Emma was picking dandelions from a giant patch underneath another nearby tree. Her increasingly thick, blonde hair was being whisked in the wind as she twirled around in circles, causing her pink jumper dress to sway. She was so independent. She could play by herself for hours, picking flowers and twirling, and she'd never even notice the absence of her parents.  
  
"Hey, what do you say we go shopping?" Ross suggested.  
  
"Do we have time? Don't you have papers to grade?"  
  
"They can wait," he stated matter-of-factly, tucking an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. "I want to spend the rest of the afternoon with my two favorite girls."  
  
After a few more minutes spent kissing and giggling underneath the shade of their tree, the two collected up their baby girl and headed back to the car. Emma was already asleep over Ross' shoulder by the time they made it to the end of the block. As they rounded the corner to the parking garage, a beautiful woman walked by. Ross looked down at Rachel and cocked an eyebrow in jest, which only earned him a hard swat on his back. He chuckled at the way he could always get a rise out of her and quickly wrapped his free arm protectively and lovingly around her waist, planting a kiss on the top of her head.  
  
"You're prettier than her, anyway," he whispered as she put her arm around him.  
  
"Damn right," she joked. "That's always the right answer and don't you forget it."  
  
They could both really get used to this whole domesticity thing.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

End Chapter 1. Continued In Chapter 2.


	2. Chapter 2

I got some reviews for the last chapter expressing that some people thought the description of the penthouse was too much. To tell you the truth, I don't know if it'll become absolutely vital information in chapters to come, but it can't hurt to have a picture in your mind of what you're reading, can it? I'm a descriptive writer. I get an image in my mind and I'm going to write about it. I imagined that apartment before I even imagined that it would be where Ross and Rachel might live :-) I liked the idea of the house. I wrote about. That's the way I do things. Sorry if it distracts you, but then maybe my writing style isn't for you.  
  
Still have no idea where this is going. Lo siento :-)  
  
The song I use is "Raining In Baltimore" by Counting Crows.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

WARNING: Chapter rated R for sexual situations and some language.  
  
Just fluff n' stuff. Also, an experiment with the nickname "baby". I've always liked it. Shame they didn't use it in the show :-)  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Tomorrow night?" Rachel asked, holding the phone between her shoulder and cheek while she reached for the container of fruit on the top shelf of the refrigerator. "Yeah, I don't see why not. Let me..." Beep beep. "..Dammit, hold on, that's the other line." Click over. "Hello?"  
  
"Hey, Sweety, it's me," Ross greeted.  
  
"Baby, I can't really talk right now, I'm in the middle of like 5,000 things. Have you seen Emma's Carebears spoon, by the way?"  
  
"Uh, try the bottom drawer of the island. What are you in the middle of?"  
  
"I've got Monica on the other line," she explained, bending over to search for the missing utensil, a container of fruit in one hand, her cell phone in the other and the phone propped against her shoulder. "She wants us to come to dinner tomorrow night. That's okay, right?"  
  
"I don't see why not. The Yankees game is on at 8, though."  
  
"Fine," Rachel rolled her eyes, smiling at Ross' unfailingly bouts of childishness. "It's like I've got 2 kids, I swear," he heard her mumble.  
  
"I'm choosing to ignore that. I'll let you go, but I was just calling to make sure we're still on for our date tonight," he conceded. It was somewhat of a joke between them. They'd agreed to go out for an evening alone at least once a weekend. Tonight, being Friday night, was the "date night" this week.  
  
"Well, if you'd let me go get ready for the babysitter then maybe we are," she teased.  
  
"Fine, go," he teased. "Be ready to go by 7."  
  
"Okay, I love you. See you then." Click over. "Okay, Monica, I've really got to go. I've got so much to do before Carrie gets here."  
  
"I've taught you well. Now go and clean."  
  
"You won't be able to sleep if I don't, will you?'  
  
"...No," Monica admitted. "Now go!"  
  
"Okay love you bye," she strung together before hanging up. "What's Carrie's number?" she asked herself, pausing mid-kitchen to collect her thoughts. God bless the electronic phonebook on her cell phone.  
  
As much as she loved staying at home with Emma, she counted down the days until the little girl started preschool next month. She and Ross had already kept her away from it for a year longer than most parents. Now, however, the pressures of taking turns staying at home with her were just too great. Since they'd both been promoted, they'd traded the luxurious salary increases for much-needed free time. They were lucky if they got to the grocery store once a week anymore. That was one of their many reasons for agreeing to at least one date night each weekend. They couldn't let this relationship follow the path of its predecessor. They saw so little of each other during the week that Friday, Saturday and Sunday had to be all about them and Emma.  
  
Tonight was extra special, however, because it was the 6 month anniversary of her "getting off the plane". That's how they referred to it. They never called it a "reunion" or "dating" because those words seemed trivial after all they'd been through. She'd gotten off the plane 6 months ago today and that was good enough.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Rachel stepped out of the shower in their master bathroom, toweling off quickly and running back into the bedroom to the dresser for a set of underwear. She decided on a sheer, almost-transparent white bra and matching thong. Sexy didn't have to mean black and lacy, after all. She knew he liked these., anyway.  
  
They weren't doing anything too terrible fancy (the formalities of dating considerably lost their glamour after so many years) so she threw on a nice pair of black pants and white tank top. Shoes were what really matter, anyway, she thought, deciding on strappy black one with big heels to pull together the more up-scale effect of the outfit. She dried her hair in a rush, occasionally peeking her head out into the bedroom were Emma was playing on the bed and watching a cartoon on their TV. She glanced at the clock. 6:57. Carrie and Ross would both be there in 3 minutes and she still had make-up to put on. How she ever even got to this point was beyond her. Maybe for their date they could just curl up in the bed and take a nice, long nap?  
  
Ding.  
  
"Shit!" she yelled over the whirling sound of the dryer. Whoever it was was early. "Looks like it's going to be the windy look tonight, huh Emma?" she called into the other room, more so to let her daughter know she was still there than to ask an infant's opinion on dating etiquette. She pulled the still-damp hair up into a messy bun and straightened her shirt before adding a little make-up and running our into the living room and to the front door.  
  
"Hello here," Ross welcomed her, clichely pulling a bouquet of flowers out from behind his back and kissing her on the nose. "You look great." She put her hand lightly on his stomach and patted it as she closed the door behind him.  
  
"Yeah, well, not as great as I would have looked if you had been on time," she scolded playfully, swatting him on the bicep. "Will you bring Emma out here? I've got to go find jewelry."  
  
"Sure, I should probably change my clothes, anyway." He disappeared into the bedroom and Rachel headed straight for the extra jewelry box she kept in the guest bedroom to find a pair of silver earrings and a necklace. She envied a man's ability to "change clothes" in 5 seconds and look good as new.  
  
Ding.  
  
"I've got it!" she yelled into the other room, running back out to the front door.  
  
"Hi, Ms..." Carrie trailed off, her voice losing its perkiness when she horrifyingly realized she didn't know what to call Rachel. Rachel grinned. It only amused her now when people didn't know what to make of her and Ross.  
  
"Rachel's fine, sweety. Come in," she urged, shutting the door behind the pretty teenager. "She's already had her bath and she's in her pajamas, so all you really have to do is keep her occupied until her bedtime at 8. You know the drill." Carrie nodded. Just then, Ross came out of the back in a newly-pressed pair of Khaki pants, a dark blue dress shirt and a light blue tie. Rachel actually smiled at how nice he looked.  
  
"Here she is," he announced, handing the already drowsy child to her sitter. "You might not even have to read her a story before bedtime. It's looks like she's already pretty zonked out."  
  
"Thanks, Mr. Geller. We'll be fine. You two have fun."  
  
"We will. Bye!" With that, Ross and Rachel left the apartment for their night away from dippers, babysitters, work and all-nighters.  
  
"Is it wrong that it's 7 and I just want to go to sleep?" Rachel asked in mock exhaustion, laying her head against Ross' shoulder as they made their way to the elevator.  
  
"Aw, come on," he insisted. "The night's young."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
They walked along the streets of the Village, hand in hand. After dinner, they'd decided to skip the movie to return to their old stomping grounds for a little nostalgia. They each had mixed feelings about the fact that things hadn't changed much in the months they'd been gone. The leaves were falling from the trees, now, and scattering about the streets, but everything else remained the same.  
  
There are things I remember and things I forget I miss it I guess that I should  
  
The sky was darkening from a royal to a navy and in some stretches of sidewalk between the street lights, the stars could actually be made out. Few cars and cabs roamed the streets and most people could be seen inside through their windows, even though it was only 9.  
  
"I think it's going to rain," Ross projected, looking up at the few clouds in the sky that were positioned directly above them.  
  
"This is so bizarre," she mused, shaking her head. "It's like we're guests here, now."  
  
And they were, really. Though all the buildings were the same-- the street lights, news stands and front stoops in the same places-- something seemed off center.  
  
"I never really saw this coming," he confessed, looking up at the apartment complexes towering over them. "I mean, I didn't expected to feel so out of place when I came back."  
  
You get what you pay for but I just had no intention of living this way  
  
"I know what you mean. So much of our lives were spent here. So much of US is here." He looked over at her and smiled, amazed that she could seemingly read his mind. "Our first kiss...our first time...our first 'I love you'...Emma..." she continued, trailing off.  
  
"It is a little disconcerting, isn't it? Knowing that not only will we never get those things back, but that they almost don't even belong to us anymore."  
  
"They belong to us, Ross," she guaranteed him, stopping at a bench off to the side and pulling him to come sit beside her, "but I kind of like knowing they belong to this place, too."  
  
"It's like it's all immortalized," he nodded.  
  
Just then, a deep rumbling rolled across the sky and the Heavens began to weep. Rachel let out a short yelp as the thick drops of rain hit her and began soaking through her clothes. Ross put one hand on her back and guided her underneath the overhang of the store they were sitting in front of.  
  
"Damn, we're never going to get a cab," he predicted, rubbing her shoulders to keep her warm.  
  
"You know what?" she asked suddenly, taking his hand. "Let's just walk for a while."  
  
"Really? I thought you hated getting wet."  
  
"Well, yeah, I do," she admitted, smiling, "but let's pretend we're not so old and bitter, just for a little bit."  
  
"Okay," he conceded, shrugging, "but you do realize that Rachel Green never would have walked in the rain even when she was 25, don't you?"  
  
"Oh, just come on!" she commanded, slapping his shoulder and pulling him behind her.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
They arrived back at the apartment around 10 completely drenched and dismissed a very confused Carrie after paying her. Even though Emma was already sound asleep, they walked up to her room to kiss her on the forehead and say their 'goodnights'.  
  
Once back in the bedroom, Ross began unbuttoning his shirt and rid himself off the soaked-through piece of clothing. He was distracted, however, but watching Rachel saunter past him into the bathroom. Whether she was actually trying to entice him or not, he was unsure of, but she was succeeding, either way.  
  
He approached her from behind where she was standing at the vanity in the bathroom, placing one hand on the counter top to the right of her and the other against the flatness of her stomach. Placing a kiss on her neck, he reached over and turned the light off.  
  
"Ross," she giggled, "I can't see to get undressed."  
  
"I'll do it for you," he whispered, now placing his other hand on her stomach, as well. He moved his kisses in a line from her neck to her ear, finding the lobe and taking it between his teeth. He pushed his hips firmly forward into her ass, pressing them up against the counter and soliciting a soft moan from her lips.  
  
After letting his fingertips brush her stomach lightly at the top of her pants for a while, he began working at the button and zipper, unfastening them and letting the garment fall to the floor. Even in the dark, he could tell she was wearing the see-through lingerie that he liked. He pulled the tank-top off by its sides, leaving her standing with her back to him in her underwear. If it had been even a tad brighter, he probably could have seen her reflection in the mirror, and he was wishing for that now. He almost missed seeing her face in the 2 minutes they'd been standing this way. He felt her lean back into him and reach her arms back to wrap them around him at his waist, connecting her hands together on his lower back. They stood like that for a moment, taking a second out of the sexual heat and fury of the moment to just absorb each other's presence in the dark before he turned her around so he could see her.  
  
The shadows were cast over her face in the pitch, but he could still make out the soft, angelic familiarity there. She was so pretty, sometimes, that it made him want to cry, but he was feeling such a deep-seeded attraction to her that went so far beyond "pretty" now. She was hot. She was sexy. She was seductive. She was that same kind of attractive that made him dream about her when they were in high school and that made him want to be with her 24 hours a day when they'd first started dating. This was the young, heated, passionate, irrational kind of attraction that filled every fiber of your being and made you feel 18 again.  
  
He felt her hands tugging at his belt, cutting the reverie short and causing him to lay assault to her mouth with his. He kissed her deeply for a long while, neither really moving to make it more. It was a hungry, needy kind of kissing. Their tongues delved so far into each other's mouths that their bodies had to physically press together more tightly to sustain balance. His hands roamed her body eagerly, finally finding their way to her ass so he could lift her up onto the counter top and sit her down. He somehow managed to position her on the edge, urge her thighs open with his hands and assert himself between them without ever breaking the kiss.  
  
"Bed?" she asked breathlessly between kisses, wrapping her arms around his neck.  
  
"No yet," he answered, shaking his head a bit and beginning to unbutton his own shirt. Some part of him-- maybe a more primal part-- yearned being naked with her out in the open before retiring to the encompassing sheets of the bed. She helped him with the shirt, pushing it from his shoulders once he'd unbuttoned it and then moving onto his pants. Both let out a sigh of relief once he'd shed down to his boxers and could just return to kissing her slowly and deeply without worrying about excess details such as clothes.  
  
Suddenly, he picked her up and whirled her around to press her up against the wall behind them. Nothing was holding her up but his own arms and he liked the feeling of protectiveness it gave him over her. She wrapped her legs tightly around his middle and groaned as he pushed against her, the cool wall pressing back with equal force. She watched the muscles contract and bulge in his arms as he held her up, beads of sweat forming on his skin. He broke their kiss to suck on her shoulder.  
  
"I think..." he breathed heavily, trying to form a somewhat coherent sentence even when all the blood had rushed from his brain southward., "...we're going to need the bed, now."  
  
He carried her quickly into the other room (also completely dark) and threw her onto the bed, climbing immediately on top of her and settling his weight into the cradle of her hips and knees. They didn't bother to get underneath the sheets. This lovemaking-- and that's what it was, as it hadn't quite yet crossed that fine line into 'just fucking'-- was too furious and deprived for things like sheets. Though they'd had sex many times since she'd 'gotten off the plane', not once had it been like this. Not once had it been this deep or passionate or needy. This wasn't about what they'd gained back or rediscovered-- this was about what they'd missed. This was about all the lonely nights they'd spent wanting one another-- needing one another-- but having been too scared or stupid to admit it. This was about all the failed romances that had fizzled out from inadequacy and failure to live up to this-- what they could make together. This was about the 9 fucking years of being lost in exchange for that 1 year of bliss. This WAS that 1 year...in 1 night.  
  
He tore at her underwear, freeing her from the pieces in one smooth motion and tossing them across the room in his haste. Finally, she was naked. He allowed her to pull the boxers down from his hips and he sank down inside her in one, fluid motion, unable to hold back any longer. It took her by surprise at first, as the whole thing was going rather fast, and he saw her wince.  
  
"Jesus, did that hurt?" he asked sweetly, stopping his moving and stroking her cheek with one hand.  
  
"No," she assured him, breathing into his ear. "No, no, just keep going." She pressed her hands against his back and bent her knees, pulling him as closely to her as possible. A part of her wanted him to melt and just sink into her completely. He smelled and tasted and felt so so good and she never wanted it or him to stop. After only a few more minutes, though, he gave way and she followed, feeling his weight collapse onto her. Neither one moved for what seemed like hours.  
  
Now was the time for the sheets. She somehow positioned them without having to move too much. He was still more or less sprawled across her, his head resting on her breasts and his legs draped across hers. She ran one hand through his hair and another over the smooth, tan skin of his back in the same rhythmic motion he was using on her arm with his right hand.  
  
"Wow," he whispered into the dark. She smiled and nodded.  
  
"Mmm, I know."  
  
"I'm glad I didn't remember it being that way until just now, " he confessed. "I probably would have cried myself to sleep most nights if I'd remembered before."  
  
"How could you forget?" she asked jokingly.  
  
"I think I made myself," he answered, his voice suddenly very serious. "Otherwise, I never could have enjoyed sex again with anyone else."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Ross?" she asked quietly.  
  
"Yeah." He rubbed circles over her wrist, now, with the pad of his thumb.  
  
"We were really stupid, weren't we?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Ross?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Did you...think of me?"  
  
"When?" He knew when.  
  
"You know, when you were...with other girls? When we were apart?"  
  
"Yes," he answered honestly.  
  
"When?"  
  
"At least once with every one."  
  
"Really?" she asked, lifting her head to look at him. He couldn't see her do it but he felt it. He nodded. "Even with like...Mona? And Charlie? After 6 years?"  
  
"Yeah," he whispered, almost sounding embarrassed.  
  
"Wow..." She rested her head back down on the pillow and adjusted herself beneath him, wriggling a little to get comfortable. She moved both hands into his hair and stared up at the ceiling.  
  
"Tell me something else," she stated, not so much asking as demanding.  
  
"What kind of something?"  
  
"Anything I never knew. Like that."  
  
He thought for a long time-- several minutes.  
  
"I don't know if you'll like it," he confessed, shifting so he was laying underneath her and she could rest her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms affectionately around her and stroked her back.  
  
"Tell me anyway," she beckoned, placing her hands on his sides.  
  
"It's about her." They both knew who 'she' was. He'd never said her name in his presence, though, and visa versa. There was only one 'her' with them.  
  
"Tell me," she said again, this time more firmly.  
  
"I was thinking of you the whole time," he stated. It was quiet for a few minutes and he almost began regretted bringing it up. He was about to say 'I told you so' before she spoke.  
  
"I knew that already."  
  
"You did?"  
  
"I knew how in love with me you were, Ross. I never doubted that. That was never the problem."  
  
"Oh." He sounded like a little boy who had just been scolded. She reached up and pushed the hair away from his eyes.  
  
"Let's not talk about that," she whispered, kissing his bottom lip and sucking on it for a few seconds. She laid her head back down on his chest.  
  
"Rachel?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Did you really love him?" Like there was only one 'her', there was only one 'him' between them, too. This one had a name, though, and they each said it several times a day. Never in this context, though.  
  
"No," she answered quickly.  
  
"That was fast," he chuckled, partly nervously out of relief.  
  
"It was an easy question."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Do you know how much I love you?" he asked. This almost surprised her. She'd been on her way to dreamland when she heard him utter it. Ross was sweet and sentimental and made no secret of his feelings for her, but he rarely said things as straightforward and uninhibitedly as this when not making love or drunk. He was still a shy person, even with her.  
  
"I think so," she assured him, kissing his collar bone.  
  
"Do you know how long I've loved you?" His voice was breaking. Just barely, but it was there.  
  
"I guess it's been-"  
  
"20 years," he finished.  
  
"God, it has been that long, hasn't it?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"That's longer than I've ever done anything," she admitted. "That's longer than most people do anything."  
  
"Don't worry," he cooed, because he could tell what she was thinking. "It was worth it."  
  
"Well," she stated a bit more loudly, sitting up on top of him and smiling down. "Is there anything I can do to make it even MORE worth it?" She patted his chest and felt his hands move up her thighs in the dark. His stomach muscles contracted beneath her as he chuckled.  
  
"You're going to be the death of me, woman."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
End Chapter 2. Continued in Chapter 3. 


	3. Chapter 3

I'm really cranking this sucker out, aren't I? I think I might have some concept of where this is going now...maybe...possibly...we'll see. Until it starts manifesting itself, though, just enjoy. I think the subject matter is going to be rather stereotypical, which I almost hesitate to do, since no author wants their story to be stereotypical, but I'll try and spin it in a new light. There are only so many things that can happen and so many different channels of progression after a fairly conventional couple in their 30's gets together and has a kid, though, right?  
  
In short, you've probably read it all before, but maybe mine will be more fun than most :-)  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Hey!" Rachel cheered, reaching out and pulling her best friend into a massive bear hug. "Oh, It's been so long since I've seen you!"  
  
"Sweety, we saw each other like 3 days ago," Monica reminded her, swaying playfully from side-to-side, still engaged in the hug. Rachel pulled away.  
  
"Whatever! It still feels like an eternity. Oh, I just don't think I'm ever going to get used to not seeing you guys every day. Where's Chandler?"  
  
"He's in the living room with the twins," Monica noted, pointing back behind her. "Where's my brother?"  
  
"He's wake up Emma. Apparently he thinks he does it 'less obtrusively than me'," Rachel informed, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.  
  
The two women stepped inside the house. Monica had decorated it beautifully and it now had a very modern, up-beat feel to it. She'd even painted the living room purple in honor of the old apartment. They rounded a bend to their right and found Chandler sitting of the hardwood floor with Jack and Erica, doing something with markers and construction paper.  
  
"Chandler, what did I tell you about coloring in here?"  
  
"Don't worry, I'm watching them, babe," he assured.  
  
"It's not them I'm worried about! Have you seen him try to stay inside the lines?" she asked Rachel, earning her a chuckle from her best friend. Just then, Ross entered the room behind them, holding a very sleepy, cranky Emma.  
  
"Sorry it took us a while. Someone's a little fussy."  
  
"Aw, it's okay," Monica cooed, reaching out for her niece. "This cutie can be fussy anytime she wants, can't she?" she baby-talked to the sweet-faced girl. She rocked Emma and patted her hair.  
  
"What're we having?" Ross asked, putting his hand against his stomach. "I'm starved."  
  
"Sautéed lamb, caramelized mashed potatoes and Greek salad," Monica answered, leading the other 3 back into the kitchen. They let the children play on the floor while they sat down at the rectangular table.  
  
"So how's the apartment?" Monica asked, folding her napkin onto her lap. There was a brief interlude of awkward silence and confused stares before she clarified. "I mean your apartment..."  
  
"Oh, um, it's great! Yeah, you know, we just finished unpacking the other day," Rachel nodded.  
  
"How's the TV working out for you, Ross?" Chandler asked with a smile, nodding at his friend as if in some special "guy" terms.  
  
"Did you know that thing COMES with TiVo? Yeah, the other day? I recorded the Nicks/Pistons game WHILE watching the Discovery Channel documentary on Japanese-American Internment prisons from.."  
  
"You mean I bought you that thing so you could TAPE a Nick's game?" Chandler asked, astonished and shaking his head. "I KNEW I should have kept it for myself.  
  
"Okay, children, settle down," Rachel teased. "Mon, how are things coming along with the restaurant?"  
  
Right after they'd moved and the twins were born, Monica had decided to balance maintaining her chef job with an operation to open up her own restaurant. It was still in the development stages, but she was determined to make it happen.  
  
"Oh, , um, I'm working with this architect from a firm Chandler's company collaborates with. He's so efficient! I love him!" she enthusiastically spurted out.  
  
"Yes, a little TOO much, I think," Chandler quipped, deadpanning his face. Monica rolled her eyes.  
  
"Quit it, Chandler! We've talked about this. Rachel, what is it about guys that makes them get like this whenever we even TALK to another man?"  
  
"Got me," she shrugged, turning her head to see Ross throwing her a dirty look. She was obviously mocking him about Mark. "I think you can train them out of it," she considered, "...although there was this time at the grocery store a few weeks ago..."  
  
"Hey," Ross intervened, dropping his fork onto his plate and getting immediately defensive, "you KNOW that guy was checking you out. He saw that I was obviously with you."  
  
"Well it's not like I had a wedding band on or anything," Rachel reputed. Uh, oh. She immediately regretted the words as they left her mouth. The room got quiet and a thick, uncomfortable silence covered everything. You could cut the palpable tension with a knife. No one even moved for a good 10 seconds.  
  
"Ross, listen, that's not what I-"  
  
"No, I know," he nodded, failing miserably at concealing his defensiveness. He looked away, tightening his lips as if to stifle another comment. She tried to lay her hand on his, but he pulled away and backed his chair from the table. "Will you excuse me for a second?" They all watched him exit the kitchen before anyone spoke.  
  
"Shit!" Rachel sighed, pounding the tabletop with the flat of her palm and rubbing her eyes. "God, that's so not what I meant."  
  
"No, we know, honey," Monica sympathized, rubbing her friend's back. "I guess it's just a touchy subject."  
  
"It is! That's why I can't believe I said it."  
  
"Rach, we know. You were just teasing him and it slipped. I'm sure he's fine," Chandler tried his best to reassure.  
  
"Oh, really? Is that why he left?" she asked, her voice cracking. She closed her eyes tightly, squeezing out a single tear that slid slowly down her cheek.  
  
"If you want, I'll go talk to him," Chandler offered. Rachel didn't answer, but Monica nodded him ahead. He quietly snuck out, leaving the two women alone in the kitchen.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Out on the front porch, Chandler found Ross standing at the top of the steps, gazing out over the front lawn and across the paralleled streets of suburbia. He was leaning against a support beam with his hands in his pockets. He looked pensive and serious, even from behind. Chandler moved to stand beside him, placing a hand on his back.  
  
"Hey, man," he greeted. Ross nodded but continued to stare straight ahead. "You okay?"  
  
"Ch'yeah," Ross scoffed, almost chuckling a bit, shaking his head and looking down at his feet. "Fan-fucking-tastic."  
  
"Look, about what happened in there-"  
  
"No," Ross stopped him, shaking his head and looking up. "No, don't make excuses. For her or for me. She's right. I fucked up."  
  
"What?" Chandler asked confused.  
  
"What do you mean 'what'?" he asked, stepping away from his friend and throwing a frustrated hand into the air. "Would you look at me? I'm 34 years old, I've been divorced 3 times-- the first two times because I was with the wrong women, and the third time because I was with the RIGHT woman but for the wrong reasons-- and I still can't just make the right decision." Both men were quiet for a moment-- Ross for a lack of words and Chandler for a lack of help. "What the hell's wrong with me, man?" he asked, finally sitting down on the front stoop.  
  
"Nothing, 'wrong' with you," Chandler said, sitting beside his friend. Ross shook his head.  
  
"No-- no, there HAS to be something wrong with me. What else could explain me having been with the woman I've loved since high school TWICE, already, and not having proposed even ONCE?"  
  
"Fear? Perfectionism? Romanticism?" Chandler proposed. These possibilities did intrigue Ross, and he found it odd that he couldn't find an argument. "Look...Ross..." he continued, patting him on the back, "I think you and I both know it's not as easy as that."  
  
"Yeah, but does Rachel know that?" he asked seriously, turning to look his friend in the eye. Chandler nodded.  
  
"I'd be willing to bet so. She's a pretty smart girl, you know."  
  
"I know," Ross agreed, nodding. "I just want it to be prefect, you know?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I mean..." Ross paused, searching for the right words. He looked out over the infinite casing of front lawns, picket fences and street lights, considering his next sentence, "...how can anything be good enough for her?"  
  
"Is that why you haven't proposed yet? You're worried you wont be able to do it well enough?"  
  
"Yeah!" Ross answered exuberantly, as if that were obviously. "God, I mean, it's RACHEL! I was dreaming about the perfect way to propose to her before I'd had my first kiss...before my first girlfriend...before anything. She's it, Chandler. She's, like, more of an 'it' than most people get in their entire lives. She's so 'it' that I can't sleep sometimes thinking about it. She's...I don't even know," he surrendered, covering his face with his hands and sighing deeply.  
  
"I know, man. Trust me, I know how you feel about her."  
  
"So do I. That's the hardest part."  
  
"Well, if it's any consolation, she really did feel terrible about what happened. She was almost in tears when I left."  
  
"Gah, I didn't mean for that to happen," Ross insisted. "I should probably go talk to her but I feel like such an ass.."  
  
"Well, I'm going to go back inside," Chandler announced, standing up and wiping off his pants. "Come on back whenever you feel up to it."  
  
"Thanks, man."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Chandler walked back inside to be greeted by his wife. She was clearing dishes from the table.  
  
"Where is she?" he asked confusedly.  
  
"In the bathroom. This was something, huh?"  
  
"Tell me about it." He picked up a plate from the table and began helping her clean up.  
  
"Is Ross okay?"  
  
"Yeah, he's fine."  
  
"What was the problem, do you know?"  
  
"He's just really intimidated by the prospect of having to propose to her, which is understandable, I guess."  
  
"Wow, Ross afraid of proposing?" Monica joked.  
  
"I know, right?" he played along. "It is kind of daunting to think about, though."  
  
"What is?"  
  
"Well, just think about how long he's been in love with her for. You know, he told me he'd been planning this since before he'd even had his friend girlfriend, and I hadn't thought about it before, but he's right. Twenty years is a long time to want something. I guess now that he has it, he doesn't know what to do with it."  
  
Just then, Rachel emerged from the bathroom, make-up touched up and looking fairly pulled-together. She smiled weakly.  
  
"Will you guys watch Emma for a few minutes?" she asked, pointing towards the door implicitly. They nodded and smiled comfortingly. She made her way to the front of the house.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
The screen-door creaked as Rachel stepped out onto the porch. Ross was standing again, leaning in that same crooked way against the white-washed beam. The wind blew slightly, tousling his hair and flapping his now-undone tie in the wind.  
  
She crept up behind him and slid her arms around his waist, slipping them through the holes his arms created with his hands shoved into his pockets. She inhaled deeply and placed a firm kiss directly between his shoulder blades, resting her head against his back.  
  
"Hi," she whispered feebly.  
  
"Hi."  
  
Another few minutes passed, sans words or movement. They just stood like that, with him leaning slanted against the poll and her clinging to him from behind. She rubbed his stomach lightly and patted it a few times, just to show him that she was still there and waiting attentively.  
  
"So," she stated, matter-of-factly. This made him smile. She was too cute, sometimes. He could never stay mad at her.  
  
"So." She could hear the smile in his voice. He was so bad at concealing it.  
  
"Are we going to talk about this?" she finally asked. Someone had to make the first move.  
  
"Do you want to?" he asked, sounding hopeful in some way, but she wasn't sure of what.  
  
"I always want to talk if something is bother you," she answered diplomatically, dodging the straightforwardness of his question. "IS something bothering you?"  
  
"Yes," he answered quietly and honestly.  
  
"What?"  
  
He chuckled a bit and she could feel it in his stomach. This made her giggle, too. They were getting too old for this. Not that they were 'old' by any stretch of the imagination, but these were the types of conversations reserved strictly for overly analytical, lovelorn college students who spent hours on end and hundreds of dollars tying up phone lines from opposite ends of the country as they dissected every aspect of their relationship, a hundred times over. This was not for 30-somethings with a child and a home together.  
  
"Come on," she pleaded, swaying them playfully from side to side. "Just for kicks. What's the problem?"  
  
"You," he replied, throwing her for a loop.  
  
"Oh?" she asked, almost worried for a moment. "How so?"  
  
"You're just...you're too...you're so..." he grasped desperately for words. How could he ever explain to Rachel, though, just how 'Rachel' she was? How could he make her see how intimidating, even now, she could be at times? How horrifying the prospect of trying to satisfy the supreme being he'd built her up as in his mind was.  
  
"I hope the ends of these sentences are good," she joked, alluding to another time he'd been at a loss for words. He pulled away slightly and turned to face her.  
  
"Rachel," he stated seriously, looking into her eyes now. "I can't mess this up." That's all he had to say. They both knew what "this" was, and they both knew exactly what he meant. She nodded and sauntered closer to him again, placing her hands on his sides and leaning her forehead against his chest.  
  
"I know," she nodded. She did know. She wouldn't pretend to be oblivious to how much he loved her-- how he almost worshiped her. She knew. She knew he was scared and intimidated and nervous. And it had never bothered her. He'd only thought it had.  
  
"You do?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her, now, and kissing the top of her head. She nodded and looked up at him, her eyes big and wet.  
  
"I'm not expecting anything from you, Ross. I have you, now, and it's already forever...with or without a stupid ring." She waited for this to sink in. "Okay?"  
  
"Boy, you sure have changed a lot since we first met," he teased.  
  
"Hey, I'm not saying I'd turn one down."  
  
They both laughed quietly and she leaned up, placing a firm kiss on his lips. She rested her head against his chest and he held her on their friends' front porch for a little longer through the night and the wind and darkness, owning witness to the miles and miles of front lawns, picket fences and street lights.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
End Chapter 3. Continued in Chapter 4. 


	4. Chapter 4

A lot of (necessary) exposition and fluff. Fairly light but important stuff. Drama in the chapter to come.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Rachel rolled over and smiled contentedly, draping one arm across Ross' chest and stroking it. She closed her eyes and kissed his shoulder and neck, tasting the saltiness in the sweat that had accumulated on his skin during their lovemaking.  
  
"Wow," she whispered through her smile. He kissed her forehead and wrapped a protective arm around her back.  
  
"Wow is right."  
  
"I feel like I should take a shower now," she confessed, lifting herself and crawling over him to get out of the bed. "Do you want to come with me?" She smiled mischievously and cocked an eyebrow. He watched her amble naked over to the connecting bathroom door and lean against the frame invitingly.  
  
"As soon as I can move again," he joked.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
In the shower, he ran the bar of soap over her body and shampooed her hair for her. He watched the bubbly lather slide down her stomach and back and settle on the curves of her hips and breasts. She caught him staring and smiled timidly, swatting his chest lightheartedly. He took this act as a cue to play along, so he placed his hands on her waist and nibbled lightly on her ear, taking brakes in between to kiss her jaw or nose. She giggled as he did this, rubbing his back and swaying side to side with him. The moment was sweet and blithe. He loved doing things like this with her-- just playing and kissing and touching innocently.  
  
He was glad things weren't tense between them after what had happened at Monica and Chandler's. He'd feared they would be, but with this window of normalcy and comfortable between them, he decided it might be an opportune time to mention that wintry ski retreat he was hoping to take with her.  
  
"Hey, I have this idea..." he began, backing her against the tile wall of the shower. She smiled as he kept his neck lowered to kiss her ear, even as he was talking.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"How would you like to get away for Christmas?" he asked. She pushed him away by the shoulders and looked at him unsurely but happily.  
  
"Really!?" she exclaimed, her mouth turning upward into a huge smile. He nodded.  
  
"Yeah, I was thinking about that Vermont resort Mon and Chandler went to last year."  
  
"Oh, Ross, that sounds so great!" She literally bounced up and down, bracing herself against his shoulders.  
  
"Can you do that again?" he joked, smiling and earning another swat on the chest.  
  
"No, but seriously? Can we really go for Christmas?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"I mean, I was excited about our first Christmas here, but with Monica and Chandler there, it could be so much fun!" she projected. He nodded in agreement. He was happy she'd received the suggestion so well. Against the snowy backdrop of a cozy ski resort, and with the help of a little Holiday cheer, the possibilities were endless. Maybe even finally the sounding of wedding bells...  
  
She reached up and placed her hands behind his neck, bringing his head down for his lips to meet hers in a soft kiss. He tried to deepen it, opening his mouth and invading hers with his tongue, but she stopped him and shook her head.  
  
"Hey, now, who's going to drive Emma to her Jamboree class in 30 minutes if we start that up?" she asked.  
  
"I'll be quick," he offered, knowing it wouldn't work but promising anyway. He bit on her ear. He knew how much she loved that.  
  
"I'm not falling for that one," she assured him, stroking his back in consolation and patting it a few times, but then pulling away. "Come on. I happen to know for a fact that you have a meeting at 10."  
  
"Joykill," he accused, leaning his head against the shower in defeat as he watched her get out and dry off.  
  
"Don't worry," she demanded, just before leaving the bathroom. "You'll get more than you can handle if we do end up in Vermont."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Ross sauteed the assemblage of peppers and pasta in the skillet he was holding, shaking it to mix them and setting it back down on the range. That day had been a long one, but it was Friday and Christmas was only 3 days away. He, Rachel, and their daughter would be leaving for Vermont early the next morning for their first Christmas together as a real family. He was ecstatic.  
  
"Mmm, hey," she purred into his ear, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his stomach. "What're we having?"  
  
"Pasta. You want some?" he asked, holding the wooden spoon over his shoulder for her to taste the few strands of pasta.  
  
"Well done," she approved, patting his stomach before walking away.  
  
"Emma, sweety, dinner's almost ready!" she called, as she walked out into the living room to look up into her daughter's loft. She was sitting on her floor playing with toys.  
  
"No thank you," the little girl yelled back, not breaking her concentration on the stuffed yellow piggy on her hands.  
  
"No thank you, huh? Well how about no dessert either?" Rachel bartered, smiling because she knew this would work on her sugar-crazed child. She heard rustling above her as Emma put away her things.  
  
"Okay, I'm ready," she announced, half-walking, half-crawling down the spiral stairway. The trap door jammies she was wearing her getting too small for her. They'd have to buy new ones soon, Rachel considered. She was growing up fast.  
  
The bright eyed, brown haired girl waddled unstably over to her mommy, clinging to her leg, demanding to be picked up. Rachel bent and brought her into her arms, kissing the top of her head and brushing her hair with her hand.  
  
"Oh, you're getting big. You want to come see Daddy?" she asked, carrying her over to Ross, who was still standing by the stove. He smiled and held out his arms as the toddler crawled eagerly into them.  
  
"There's my princess! I missed you today when I was in my boring meeting," he confessed, kissing her cheek and swaying her from side-to-side.  
  
"Are mommy and me more fun than your job?" she asked in the adorably honest way that only a child could.  
  
"You and mommy are the MOST fun," he assured her, smiling widely at her totally unadulterated innocence. He glanced over at Rachel, who was standing beside them and watching the exchange. He smiled at her and reached down with his free hand to stroke her fingers with his. He couldn't believe how perfect his life finally was. After nearly 35 years, he was finally exactly where he was supposed to be. He had the two most gorgeous girls in the world to love and be loved by-- one of them a product of the love between himself and the other. Sometimes he wondered why marriage seemed like such a big step. After all, it was just a ceremony and a slip of paper. Neither of those things could make the ties between them any more real.  
  
Ross placed his daughter in her high chair at the head of the table and sat down opposite Rachel. They ate and talked and laughed quietly, the terrace door open to let in the cool night breeze. A few times during the conversation, Ross would catch her eye across the table and smile at their daughter's affluent, addictive personality. She was so beautiful and intelligent and sociable-- the perfect combination of her parents' respective strong traits. Ross had always thought of Rachel as his human credential-- she was so lovely and charming that though he was not the most social of butterflies, the fact that SHE had chosen him defended him. Now, he marveled at his second little backer. Who would have thought that gawky, awkward high schooler would someday grow to become loved by these two stunning beauties?  
  
"Can I have my dessert now?" Emma asked from her highchair, as Rachel cleared the dirty dishes.  
  
"What would you like-- sherbet or a Popsicle?" Rachel asked, opening the freezer door.  
  
"Popsicle!" the little girl squealed, slapping her hands against the tray of her highchair.  
  
"Of course-- the messier of the two," she nodded, selecting a small cherry Popsicle from the box and opening it before handing it to Emma. She sat with her and watched her eat it (more like dribble and smear it across her face).  
  
"All done!" she announced, licking her lips, completely oblivious to the sticky substance coated all over her. Rachel took a damp paper towel to her face while Ross laughed as he looked on.  
  
"You're a mess," he observed, shaking his head and poising his hands on his hips. He checked his watch and was surprised when it read 8 o'clock. They'd had a late dinner. They'd be getting up exceptionally early the next morning, so Emma really should be put down right away. "Rach, why don't we get Emma ready for bed. It's already 8."  
  
"I don't want to go to bed yet, Daddy!" she fiercely reproached, pouting her lips in a staggeringly precious way. "I want to stay up and play with you and Mommy!"  
  
"Aw, I want you to play with us, too," he answered, picking her up out of her chair and whipping off her jumpsuit, "but you've got a big day tomorrow and you need your sleep."  
  
"Are we going to the snow mountain?" she asked, suddenly excited and clapping her hands together.  
  
"Yup! Santa's going to visit you there this year."  
  
"How will he know I'm there?" she asked concernedly. Yet again, he was floored at his daughter's sharpness and inability to miss a beat.  
  
"Santa knows everything," Ross assured, carrying her up the stairs and over to her crib, Rachel right behind him. He laid the little girl down and covered her up with the yellow blanket, smoothing her hair and patting her belly.  
  
"We love you very much," Rachel whispered, leaning over and kissing their daughter's cheek. "We'll see you in the morning, okay?"  
  
"Okay," she yawned sleepily, already succumbing to slumber.  
  
Ross and Rachel made their way back down to their room to finish off some last-minute packing for the next day's trip. As he watched her strip casually from her clothes into a white t-shirt and a pair of his boxers, he smiled at the comfort and familiarity of it. She didn't even think of him being present when she changed anymore, and it didn't have to be a sexually provocative act. It was sweet and soothing to him to know that they were that close-- to know that he could be that close to a woman. Even Carol had sometimes left the room to change clothes when they'd been married. It was a meaningless act to her, but he loved it. Around 11 p.m., they settled into bed.  
  
"Emma's a hoot, huh?" he asked, turning off the bedside light.  
  
"She really is," she agreed. "God, I just can't believe how fast she's growing! We're going to have to get her new clothes soon."  
  
Ross would be lying if he said her comment didn't provoke the possibility of another child to grow into those clothes that Emma was growing out of, but he decided to bite his tongue. One prospective big step for them was all he thought they needed on their plate right now.  
  
He scooted closer to her and nestled her in beside him, her head laying on his chest and her leg and arm tossed across him. He felt her kiss his chest and tickle his ribs lightly with her fingernails. He loved this time they had together. No other woman had ever made him feel this special or wanted. No other woman had ever laid so naturally and cozily with him. No other woman had ever treated him the way she did-- so gingerly and delicately. No other woman had ever babied him the way she did when she knew he needed it-- when he was sick, or tired from work, or after a particularly draining fight. He felt her hair tickle his face and reflected that no other woman had ever been as sexily, adorably, perfectly feminine as her-- had never had skin so smooth and tan, or hair so feathery, or lips so red and soft, or hands so dainty and nurturing. In the 20 years that he'd known and loved her, these things had changed, but never faded. The remnants of the original were all still there beneath the modern.  
  
"Rach?" he whispered, knowing she wasn't asleep because her hand was massaging his side rhythmically and deliberately.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Do you ever think about the old 'us'?" He knew this was an odd question to ask. Even he didn't know exactly what he meant by it.  
  
"What do you mean?" she asked, obviously confused. She seemed almost anxious about the question.  
  
"I mean, do you ever think back to 7 or 8 years ago? When we were so young and in love?" He hadn't meant for it to come out exactly like that, and he didn't even realize how badly she'd taken it until she pulled herself up and away to look down at him in confusion.  
  
"We're not in love now?" she asked, somewhat rhetorically in that way only a woman could corner you into a mindless panic.  
  
"No, no, that's not what I meant," he guaranteed her, putting his hand against her back to guide her down to him again. She hesitantly laid her head back on his chest. He stroked her arms in reassurance and continued. "I just mean...like, remember that time we had sex out on the couch when Monica was talking on the phone to Richard in her room?" He felt Rachel smile.  
  
"Yeah..." she giggled.  
  
"And the time we went away to Maine and called in sick for a week?"  
  
"How can I forget? I almost got fired." They both chuckled for a moment in remembrance, but when the laughter subsided, they were left with the burn of a thick, dull blade against their hearts that served as a reminder of how far away that yesterday was.  
  
"Doesn't that ever make you sad?" he asked.  
  
"I guess it would if I ever thought about it," she answered. "I don't, really, though."  
  
"I can't help it, sometimes," he confessed, shaking his head.  
  
"There's no point, Ross," she scolded him, lifting herself up to look him in the eyes. "What about what we have now? Isn't that just as good?" She ran a consoling hand through his hair.  
  
"Rach, you know I wouldn't trade anything in the world for what we have, now" he began, his voice low and seriously. "It just...it seemed so much simpler back then, you know? I mean, I love Emma, but she's a handful. And we're both at work all the time, and everyone's gone...it's just like...it's like we're not the same people. It's like we're a different Ross and Rachel." She smiled at the way he used their names together as one combined entity.  
  
"Sweety..." she began, tracing his lips with her thumb and smiling knowingly, "...there's only one Ross and Rachel." He laughed aloud and nodded.  
  
"I know, I know. Maybe I'm just being silly." He chalked it up to his own folly and kissed her nose, mouthing a simple "I love you" and "goodnight" before resting his own head against the pillow to sleep.  
  
He hadn't mentioned it to her, but those memories of their previous life haunted him on a daily basis. He loved his life with her now, but something about the direction they were headed in seemed like an inevitable journey towards a brick wall. They seemed to be traveling further and faster away from the familiar and into unchartered water. If he were being totally honest, maybe that was another factor that scared him about a marriage to Rachel. It wouldn't be like with Carol or Emily. He hadn't spent the entirety of his youth building a comfortable history with them. He had nothing to compare them to-- not former identities.  
  
Marriage seemed so final and so...adult. It seemed to seal the deal on the end of spontaneous weeks away from work and risque rendezvous in public places. It seemed to mark the end of their youth-- the end of their innocence together. And that scared him.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
End Chapter 4. Continued in Chapter 5. 


	5. Chapter 5

The song "Rhiannon" is by Fleetwood Mac, and "Magic" is by Ben Fold's Five. I highly suggest you listening to them both. They're gorgeous. 

Not every couple (even married couples) can talk their problems out or be healthy and "right" in their behavior all the time. Ross and Rachel certainly were not one of those couples, so they won't be illustrated as such in this story. If that bothers you...sorry :-)

The overall tone of this chapter is going in another direction. A less cheerful one, I guess, but backed by no less love.

This chapter **RATED R.**

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ross woke to the feeling of a hand gliding across his back. He opened his eyes and saw Rachel sitting beside him on the bed, smiling down at him and rubbing his back and shoulders.

"Wake up, Sweety. We've got to get going," she yawned, rubbing the sleep from her own eyes.

As he watched her walk towards the bathroom, he searched for the strength to call out to her to wait for him, but he just couldn't muster it. As if she could read his mind, she stopped, turned, and cocked her head at him.

"You coming?" she asked, leaning against the door frame.

"Mmmm," he answered, nodding his head a bit and begrudgingly rolling off the bed.

He shuffled to the shower like a little boy, dragging his feet with his face turned down in a pout from having to be up so early on a weekend. They slipped inside, not having to deal with the chore of removing clothes because they almost always slept naked, and turned on the water.

"You okay?" she asked, noticing he wasn't talking or even really looking at her.

"Uh huh," he answered, nodding convincingly. And he was okay. He'd just woken up with remnants of last night's thoughts still rattling around his head, and they were making him a bit uneasy. He didn't want to be feeling this way. He wasn't even really sure what 'this way' was. It wasn't necessarily bad. It wasn't contesting his feelings for her. Not in the least. There was a hesitance, though-- a restlessness to it-- that had him confused.

"You sure?" she asked, tilting her head to the side concernedly. She didn't seem convinced. He nodded and leaned down to kiss her neck, holding onto her hands casually at their sides. She backed up against the wall and moaned a little-- not sexually, but from relief and acknowledgement. She patted his back. "Good," she whispered.

Just then, a song began softly from the radio on the bathroom counter and it brought an instant smile to Rachel's lips.

_Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night,  
and wouldn't you love to love her? She rules her life like a bird in flight, and who will be her lover? All your life you've never seen a woman taken by the sky.  
Where would you stay if she promised you heaven? Would you even try?_

Shortly after they'd reunited and moved into their penthouse, they'd been doing laundry together out in the living room and the song by Fleetwood Mac had begun playing on the radio. Remembering how Rachel had made love to this particular tune with some miscellaneous stranger on Monica's couch who wasn't him, his competitiveness had gotten the better of him and he'd taken her right there on top of the pile of clean clothes.

"Do you remember this?" she asked, smiling roguishly and wrapping her hands around his middle. He nodded and forced a smile. 'She's promising me Heaven...' he thought to himself.

_Once in a million years, a lady like her rises..._

'That's true. Once in a million years...'

_...and your life knows no answers Your life knows no answers._

Suddenly, he jolted away from her and slipped out of the shower, leaving a very confused Rachel standing behind in shock.

He grabbed a towel from the rack and draped it around his waist, shaking his head to remove excess water and to clear his thoughts. 'Get it together," he thought, as he turned the radio to another station. He heard her turn the shower faucet off and exit the stall, standing naked and wet and perplexed before him.

"What the hell was that about?" she asked, her voice full of concern. She folded her arms across her chest but didn't even move for a towel.

"Nothing," he answered lamely. "I just, uh, I didn't like that song. I wanted to change it."

"What?" She seemed personally offended by his statement. "I thought you loved that song. It's one of our songs." Her voice softened on the last sentence and she sounded almost shy.

He watched the beads of water fall from her skin and hit the tile floor. One from her nose. Her eyelash. They slid over her hips and breasts, and over the flat plane of her stomach. He watched them in a mesmerized state, rendered speechless thought he wanted to answer her. He couldn't.

"Ross? What's going on?" she asked bluntly. This time, she sounded more scared than shy. This broke his concentration on the water dripping from her body and brought him back to reality. Shit. What was he doing? He couldn't let something as stupid and vague as this get blown out of proportion right before their vacation. He stepped closer to her and lowered his head to burrow into the niche between her neck and shoulder, kissing her there. He encircled her in his arms and slid his hands up and down her waist and back, feeling her melt into the embrace.

"I'm sorry," he sighed deeply, shaking his head. Another kiss on her neck.

"Is this about last night?" she asked, afraid that it was as she buried her face in his damp chest.

"I think so, yes," he answered honestly. "But it doesn't mean anything, Rach. It's just me thinking."

"That means something, alright," she only half teased. This earned her a chuckle from him and another small kiss on the neck. She patted his back a few times. "I just don't want to have to worry about this right now, you know?" she asked, seeking some sort of sympathetic understanding in him. And she found it, because he didn't want to worry about it anymore either.

"I know," he nodded. "I don't either, but you don't have to worry about anything," he assured. "I'm not going anywhere." He rocked her from side to side and kissed her nose to emphasize this point.

"Never letting me go again, remember?" she whispered.

"I remember," he conceded. They stood there for a moment, naked and dripping with water, swaying to the song that was playing on the station Ross had switched it to. The song was slow and beautiful, accompanied by piano and back-up violin.

_You're the magic that holds the sky up from the ground..._

Ross closed his eyes and let his uneasiness wash away.

_I saw you last night dance by the light of the moon;  
stars in your eyes, free from the life that you knew._

He bit her earlobe and let his hands roam down to her ass, squeezing it and pulling her up against his groin, suddenly feeling a flash of hotness burn throughout his body. Something inside him wanted to make love to her--not fuck, but make love-- right now, though he knew it was impractical. Emma was up and they'd have to leave soon if they wanted to get to Vermont in time to finish out the day, but he didn't want to let her go. She felt so good. She was warm, though still dripping wet and naked. She felt...honest. He just hoped that's what he was being with her...and with himself.

"Ross..." she moaned, feeling his hands kneading into her flesh. He bit down on her neck, unable to stop himself. Sometimes he felt like making love to her was the only way he could really let her know wholeheartedly and with 100 conviction how much he needed her and loved her. When he tried to tell her, he usually just messed things up...like now.

"I know," he whispered, licking and nipping at her jaw line. "Just 5 minutes...I'll be quick," he promised.

She groaned when he walked her backwards and her back hit the glass shower door, and again, this time a little more softly and sensually, when he moved one hand up to cup her breast. Their soft moans and sighs intermingled in the steamy, stagnant air between them and reverberated off the echoing walls of the bathroom. In the backs of their respective minds, they hoped to God that Emma was upstairs in her room.

"God, Ross, please," she begged, tangling her hands in his hair when he bent his head to kiss her neck and chest. He picked her up by her ass and she wrapped her legs around his waist. With little care and what was actually approaching the opposite of tenderness, he thrust himself inside her, causing her to bite down on her lip and throw her head back.

They both knew this was irresponsible and a bit insane-- that there wasn't enough time. It probably wasn't even for the right reasons. The way they felt about each other was too deep-- too needy and almost sick, sometimes, in its magnitude-- that there would never be enough time to harness it and express it neatly and logically. That's why moments like these were sometimes necessary. If they couldn't operate on reason and rationale, they do it based on deprived passion. They were both scared of these new feelings and this new situation-- so desperate to put it behind them-- and they didn't especially care how right. They'd talk later. They'd always have that-- the words and the analysis and the dissection. Right now, they had this. And this was enough.

"Open your eyes," he pleaded. She'd been biting her lip and moaning and stifling yelps for at least a minute, now, and he knew that always meant she was close to the end. "I want to see you when you come."

This was the most essential component of make-up/needy sex, especially with them. When words wouldn't suffice, looking into each others eyes when they brought one another to climax was the closest either of them had ever come to truly understanding what they meant to each other. When words weren't adequate, they had each others' eyes.

"Gahhhh," he moaned, spilling indecipherable mumblings from the back of his throat as he spilled himself inside of her, all the while looking directly into the blinding sapphire of her eyes.

She combed her fingers through his hair and cupped his cheek and cooed "shhh" while they both regained their composure. Then she kissed his forehead and lowered herself from his hold, her back sliding down the cool glass and her feet hitting the slippery tile floor.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking his head in embarrassment. He knew-- as did she-- that what they'd just done hadn't been entirely right. He'd all but forced it on her, and that's what he was really sorry for.

"Don't," she commanded, taking his cheek in her palm and bringing his eyes to lock with hers. Her face was stern and she shook her head. "Don't be."

He nodded and forced a smile, grabbing her hand a giving it a squeeze. He watched her gather up her clothes and exit the bathroom, waltzing out into the cool air of their bedroom and dropping them on the bed as she toweled off. Her back was to him, which seemed appropriate.

What they'd just done had not been derived from any ill intentions. It had been rash and reeked of reckless abandon, but it had come from love. Always. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling of uneasiness. He watched her dress herself as he stood there alone in the bathroom, still wet and sweaty and smelling like their sex and he felt naked in more ways than one. There was still a barrier between them; an almost tangible one.

Love was not the question. It never had been, and the act had only sealed that fact, but there was still something hard and unforgiving between them and it plagued them both.

They got dressed and packed the car with their luggage and their daughter, heading off towards a badly needed retreat from their lives with nothing both coffee on their breaths and a heavy aching in their hearts. They didn't speak until they hit the state line.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

End Chapter 5. Continued in Chapter 6.


	6. Chapter 6

"Do you want anything to drink?" he asked. They'd stopped at a gas station just inside Vermont and these were the first words spoken since they'd left over 4 hours ago. 

"No thanks," she answered, smiling weakly. "How much longer do you think we have?"

"We should hit Burlington within the next hour," he guessed. The resort was on the other side of Burlington, Vermont, which ran parallel with upstate New York and was just inside the state line.

She watched him pump the gas and sighed to herself. Being stuck in a rut was no fun. She turned in her seat to see her baby girl sitting in her car seat in the back, playing and singing to herself. She smiled.

Ross reentered the car after not too much longer and she looked at home from across the consol. He was intentionally averting his eyes from her-- she could tell. She wanted so badly to talk about what had occurred between them that morning, but she knew that wouldn't solve anything. They'd never worked anything out by 'talking through it'. No, that wasn't them. They struggled with it individually and mutely, screamed at each other at the pinnacle of their frustrations, and then knew they loved each other too much to leave or hold onto it, in the end. That was much healthier than being able to 'communicate'...

He put his hand on the back of her headrest to back the car up, and she felt her heart skip a beat. She rolled her eyes right after she realized what she'd done. Sometimes she felt like they were still 'right there', as she'd put it to Chandler so many years ago-- right at the beginning of their relationship, but not always in a good way. Sometimes they would still have stretches where it was just 'sex and talking' all the time, and that was good and made them both feel alive and young, and, ironically enough, was just the type of thing that usually alleviated the issue Ross was having now.

Sometimes, though, they were back at the beginning, and not in a good way. They were back there in the sense that they were still too uncomfortable and nervous around each other to really speak their minds. All of the familiar commodities that come with being in a long-term relationship-- the unspoken understanding, the comfort, the security-- weren't always there for them. Those things were taking a vacation, now, as a matter of fact. Rachel wondered how there could be times when she wouldn't even have to be looking at him to know exactly what he was thinking...followed so quickly by times like these, when they could be sitting 2 feet from each other and still be miles apart.

She starred out at the passing by scenery. She saw him only through the distorted reflection in the window. He looked so stern-- his teeth clenched firmly as he gripped the wheel with a locked fist. His jaw was taught and his eyes were fixed austerely on the road. She admired him for a moment, and wondered how he could ever think that age had caught up to them. It wasn't as if they were old. His hairline had not even begun to recede, his muscles were still definitive, his skin still tanned, and his eyes still that same chocolaty brown. She recalled recent nights of partying, campaign sipping and loving-making marathons. She smiled briefly, lost in thought. The man still possessed the will to bring her to her knees, screaming and begging for mercy. How could he yearn for a past when it was, in her eyes, no better than the present?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Snow was just beginning to flurry down as they pulled up to the ski lodge. It was only early afternoon, but they were already visibly exhausted and carried their luggage to the room in almost complete silence. Emma was asleep in Ross' arms the entire way.

The suit was nice, with a gorgeous view of a massive frozen pond in the foreground and the snow-covered slopes in the distance. Off of the cozy living room, with raised ceilings and deep-stained hardwood floors, was the master bedroom off to the left and a wet bar and kitchenette off to the right. Everything was decorated in rich, deep colors and Native American patterns. It was everything you might think of if someone said 'ski lodge'. The ambiance was dampened a bit, though, by the thick silence that still governed over them.

"I think I'm going to join Emma for a nap," Ross whispered with a soft smile, heading off into the bedroom with his daughter slung over his shoulder. Rachel nodded but was secretly frustrated. She'd counted on a chance to talk once they reached the inn.

She wrapped herself in a thick afghan that was thrown over the back of the couth in the living room and ventured out onto the balcony. She looked out over the miles of frozen snow and ice and whiteness. It was all so untouched and new--so virgin. It looked like a clean slate. Maybe it could be one for them. Maybe this weekend could be the moment they've been waiting for-- when they can make love for the first time in a long time without guilt or sadness or neediness looming over their heads. Those things aren't always bad, and they certainly never negated the love behind the sentiment, but she longed to make love to him the way they used to-- for love's sake, and nothing else. She did miss that about 'the old days'.

She remembered entire days when they hadn't left the bed-- they couldn't-- they'd been so wrapped up in each other. She sighed and smiled reverently, wishing for all those spaces between the silences to be filled again with promised of forever and all the words that had been missing for so long.

The problem was simple-- they both wanted all the undying, irreplaceable, unduplicated love they'd harvested after all these years without all the baggage.

And that was simply impossible.

They'd never again be able to have that same blind passion that had consumed them so many years ago-- that was buried along with their first relationship, and they were no longer blind or naive. Those feelings had been amazing and inspiring...but they'd also been childish, and they had no time for silliness like that anymore. They had their own child, now.

Rachel waited for the onslaught of tears that she was sure would be coming, provoked by this revelation. Somehow, though, she found herself oddly comforted in this epiphany. Those feelings had been smothering and exhausting, and admittedly even a little unhealthy at times. They'd lived for that all-encompassing consumption of love-- for the sex marathons and the reckless abandon and the responsibility to no one but themselves. And that had burned them out, in the end.

Maybe this new dynamic would just take some getting used to. In leaving all of those things behind-- in growing up and letting go-- what were they gaining? They'd never stopped to think of that. They had so many things now that had been foreign to them as young, irresponsible lovers.

They had the security and stability of a home. It's not that they no longer were ABLE to sneak around and forge lovers' trysts under the radar of their roommates-- it was that they no longer HAD to.

They had jobs they loved, and more importantly, were now accountable enough to balance them healthily and contentedly with one another.

They had the means for weekends away, like this one, to enjoy the world together and step outside their monotonous, sheltered existence inside The Village.

They had a child together. Emma. They had a tangible manifestation of all the twisted, fated, contrived moments in their lives that had lead them inevitably back to one another. And she was beautiful-- a perfect combination of them.

No, they could never again be the same "Ross and Rachel" that had ogled so awkwardly and childishly over one another 7 years ago. They were different now-- more grown up and more mature-- and they'd never go back. They had more baggage and more scars, more memories and more stories, more days together and nights apart, more tearing aparts and coming togethers, more loose strings and frayed ends. They had...more. They _were_ more, now.

She got up and walked back inside, closing the sliding door quietly behind her as to not wake them. She shuffled slowly into the darkness of the bedroom and stepped just inside, leaving the door cracked behind her just the tiniest bit. A soft ray of light in the shape of the crack crawled across the floor and up the mattress to rest across his sleeping form. He did not stir, though, or even wince. Emma was curled up at his side, her face burrowed into her father's shoulder, both of them sleeping soundly as babies.

She made her way to his side of the bed and kneeled down on the floor. His five o'clock shadow was darkening. She smiled. Usually, if he had any hint of a beard at all, she'd tell him to shave it. She kind of liked it, now, though. It was sophisticated. It fit him. She ran her hand up his arm to his bicep, marveling at the tension of his muscles. They seemed to shift and tighten, even in his sleep. She moved her hand across his stomach and rested it there, watching it rise and fall with his even, shallow breaths. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. A thick wave of his cologne wafted towards her and she took it in.

She felt something softly graze her hand, and she opened her eyes. His face was turned towards her, now, his eyes open slightly. He'd moved his hand to rest it atop hers on his stomach, and he was stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. He smiled weakly.

"Hi," she whispered, ever so slightly, her voice coming out barely above a breath.

"Hi," he greeted back. He held her hand more firmly, now, and tugged on it lightly, signaling her to come closer to him.

She moved her face up next to his and rested her chin on the pillow. Neither of them said a word. He closed his eyes again and she ran her unoccupied hand through his hair, rustling it up and then smoothing it out.

"Lay with me?" he asked so softly she scarcely even heard him. She smiled and nodded, climbing gently up into the bed beside him. She nestled in beside him, her head resting on his shoulder and her arm draped over his middle. He wrapped one arm around her back and used the other to stroke her shoulder and side. Their breathing evened out and kept in time with one another, always keeping one step ahead of their heartbeats.

"I love you, you know," he whispered, his mouth so close to her face that his lips grazed her forehead.

"I know," she assured, rubbing his stomach affectionately to emphasize. She did know. She also knew that the way he loved her now was entirely different than the way he had loved her 7 years ago. It was a little different every day, and it had changed and shifted with each 24-hour interval since they'd met up until today. And it always would. And she was okay with that.

Still, she knew it was important to still feel young again on occasion. Hell, they _were_ still young. She didn't know exactly what yet, but she'd do something amazing for him tonight that would make him forget all about this premature mid-life crisis. She would knock his socks off. He will have never felt so young.

Until tonight, though, they'd just be together. Older and wiser. Just as much in love.


	7. Chapter 7

This chapter is (rather intensely) rated R. 

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Rachel checked herself once more in the full-length mirror in the bedroom of their suite and smiled mischievously. She was glad she'd finally decided on the most sexy and scanty of outfits. Initially, she hadn't been quite bold enough for this one, thinking she might instead settle on the less-revealing red satin one. 'No," she'd told herself. 'If you're going to do this, do it right.' She wasn't quite sure she would have been gutsy enough to wear something like this even ten years ago, when she was TWENTY-three, but she didn't think Ross would mind.

The lingerie was hardly a nighty. It barely even constituted as underwear. It consisted of a black, lacy push-up bra, a matching crotch-less thong (she hadn't even known they'd made those), and a contrastingly white garter with black trim. To set it off, she wore a simple black choker he'd given her a few months ago. Her hair fell down around her shoulders. 'I look like a French main who REALLY wants the job,' she mused.

She was sexy and gorgeous and flawless, really. And she was all his. And in about 10 minutes, when he came back from dropping Emma off at the resort's daycare center for the evening, she'd remind him of it.

For a moment, she allowed her memory to cast her back.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO June 17, 1996 9 Years Ago...

The thin, cool sheets cascaded down her back and landed around her as she sat up to kneel on the bed. Her hair was sticking to her neck. Sweat slid over her skin. Her chest heaved. She smiled devilishly down at him.

"Jesus Christ, it's hot," he murmured, pulling himself up to sit with her.

"Maybe that's because the air conditioner's broken," she sassed, leaning forward and running her tongue around the edge of his ear. She rested her hands on his thighs and squeezed teasingly. He closed his eyes and the corners of his lips twisted up into a smile.

"Don't talk back to me, woman," he joked, suddenly grabbing her by the waist and throwing her down atop the sheets, her head now at the foot of the bed. She squealed as he jumped on top of her, caging her in with his knees and hands on both sides of her body. He was poised over her like a lion over its prey. His assured gaze into her eyes, which was everything loving and tender and awe-struck, made her smile. He couldn't even pretend to be rough with her. She knew he was as tame as a kitten.

Almost as if he'd read her thoughts, he bent his neck and licked the side of her face, the way a mother cat might clean its young. He turned his head and spit when he got some of her hair in his mouth. She giggled.

"You've got so much of it," he reminded her, pulling a strand off his tongue.

IN THE PRESENT, RACHEL SMILED. HE'D ALWAYS LOVED HER HAIR. HE'D RUN HIS FINGERS THROUGH IT PLAYFULLY AND SWEETLY WHEN THEY KISSED, AND THEN HE'D CLENCH IT IN HIS FISTS WHEN THEY MADE LOVE. ONCE, THEY'D SPENT AN EVENING STYLING IT IN THE MIRROR, BUT HE'D MADE HER PROMISE NEVER TO TELL CHANDLER OR JOEY.

It was much too muggy and hot within the closed-off confines of Rachel's bedroom for him to lay on top of her, so he instead collapsed onto the cushiony mattress beside her, propping his head up on a bent elbow and tracing circles over her lower stomach with his free hand.

RACHEL'S STOMACH KNOTTED WHEN SHE THOUGHT OF THE CONVERSATION THAT HAD ENSUED.

"Baby..." he'd trailed off, looking down at where his fingers drew their circles, lost in concentration.

"Mmmm?" she breathed, closing her eyes and letting herself let go of everything but the feeling of his fingers tickling her.

"I want to grow old with you," he blurted. Well, he'd whispered it, but it was blunt and sudden enough to count as blurting. Rachel's eyes flung wide open. She gulped. Oh God, what was he doing?

UPON REFLECTION, SHE'D NEVER FELT SUCH AN INTENSE FEELING OF DUALITY IN HER LIFE. SHE'D NEVER BEEN AS WORRIED AND EXCITED, SIMULTANEOUSLY, AS THAT BRIEF MOMENT WHEN TIME HAD STOOD STILL.

"What?" she'd opted for, hoping that covered all the bases. Instead, she was stung by the look of pain on his face. "No, no," she began again, placing her hand over his on her stomach and looking lovingly into his eyes. "I mean...where did that come from?"

"I don't know," he shook his head slightly, not tearing his eyes from hers. Silence. "I'm not asking you to marry me, Rachel," he cleared up. She sighed in relief. She loved him more than she'd ever loved anyone-- more than she thought she ever COULD love anyone-- but they'd only been dating 4 months.

"I know..." she lied. He smiled knowingly and rolled his eyes, but let it go. "Well where did that come from, then?"

"I don't know," he restated. "I was just watching you, and..." He sat up and reached for something on the night stand at the top of the bed. Coming back to where he'd been laying, Rachel saw that he was holding a mirror. She looked confused.

"You're not going to ask me to 'get to know myself more intimately' with this thing, are you?" she joked. He chuckled.

"Another day," he played along. He laid down on his back, signaling her to do the same. Holding the mirror up and out, he framed it around the two of them. Reflecting back at them was a perfectly centered shot of two naked lovers. He saw her smile in the reflection and lay her head against his shoulder.

"We are cute, aren't we?" she ruminated.

"The cutest," he agreed. However, he proceeded to move the mirror over more to the left until only her face reflected off the glass. This seemed to be the end of his demonstration. She furrowed her brow.

"I don't get it," she admitted, looking over at him.

"Look," he commanded, smiling and gesturing towards the mirror. Hesitantly and confusedly, she turned her head and gazed up at her reflection. 'Pretty unexciting," she thought, wondering what he could possibly be getting at. They both saw her face for hours every day. What was the big deal? When she didn't say anything, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Look how beautiful you are."

Her heart stopped momentarily in her chest. This moment was surreal, to say the least. She'd been told she was beautiful a hundred times before-- a thousand-- but this time was so much different. It was original. It was preconceived. It was like one of those seemingly random moments that, ultimately, are probably anything but, and force you to believe that maybe there's some higher order that you're walking around oblivious to. It was pivotal. She'd never had a moment quite like it in all her 25 years. She knew she never would again. It was a secret moment between them that made her wish no man would ever say those words to another woman again-- that they'd die on his lips, and exist only between them, from now on.

"Ross..." she'd whimpered, on the verge of tears but so wrapped up in the moment that she was totally unaware of it. He'd never said anything so blunt to her. Even their first 'I love you' hadn't hit her this hard. She'd never been more sure of anything he'd ever said to her.

"Stop it, Ross, you're embarrassing me," she insisted, tugging on his arm for him to take the mirror away. She blushed. He found it adorable.

"You don't know you're beautiful?" he pushed. He honestly didn't know if she did, but he wasn't fishing for a real answer. It was rhetorical. He wanted to challenge her. He wanted to make his point.

"No one thinks they're beautiful, Ross," she stated monotonously, sighing. She didn't know why, but she wanted to hear him say it again. It was a strange compulsion, and one she'd never had before, but she was dying to hear the words 'beautiful' spill from his mouth again. She knew he thought so-- he wore every emotion he felt for her right on his sleeve-- but she wanted to hear it. It'd never been important before, but it was now.

"You should," he insisted, nodding. He sat the mirror down beside him. Their hands were at their sides and they were still laying on their backs. They were both looking straight up at the ceiling, not at each other. The position would normally have been awkward, but it fit this moment. He grazed her thigh with the backs of his knuckles where his hand rested on the sheets between them.

"What was the point of that?" she finally asked.

"Something like this doesn't just end, Rachel," he stated. He was practically speaking on riddles. He was so smart and elegant when he wanted to be, but sometimes she wished he'd just come right out and say what he meant. "What we have, I mean...it doesn't just fade away."

"I know that," she whispered back, suddenly very aware of the sun setting behind the skyline outside the window. Dusk was setting in. The room was getting dark. They'd been laying there talking all day-- since they'd woken up there that Saturday morning, literally. No, something like that doesn't just fade away.

"Sometimes..." he began, gulping and trying to find the right words. "Sometimes, I imagine my life 10 years from now. I think about being 36, and living in some bigger place...maybe even on the Upper East Side," he mused, smiling and knowing this would catch Rachel's attention. She was taken by that place and that glamorous lifestyle. That type of thing wasn't for him, but he thought about being that way, sometimes...being wealthy and powerful...older and wiser.

"Go on..." she smiled, pushing her thigh back firmly against his in retaliation for his tickling. She still didn't know exactly where this was going, but she had faith he'd get there eventually.

"I always kind of have this same vision..." Pause. Gulp. "I wake up, and I'm laying next to my wife in bed..." He stopped momentarily. He knew how the rest of it went, but he was waiting for a reaction from Rachel. Secretly, she was dying to ask if the wife was her. She didn't know if she wanted it to be or not. Either way, she said nothing. He continued.

"The sun's shining in through the window and everything's so tranquil...I feel so peaceful. A little kid always runs into the room and jumps up on the bed, and we all hug and read the paper together and laugh..." He trailed off.

"That's beautiful," she offered. "It sounds like a great future."

"The woman's you," he finally stated. Silence.

"Every time?" she asked. She knew what the answer would be. She was really just trying to fill the silence. It probably had been her in every dream and fantasy he'd had since he was 15.

"Yes," he answered. Silence again. It was obvious she didn't know what to say.

NINE-YEARS-LATER-RACHEL HELD BACK HER TEARS AT THE THOUGHT OF HIS NEXT WORDS. THEY WERE THE WORDS THAT HAD BEEN HAUNTING HER FOR DAYS, NOW.

"I'm afraid of getting older, Rachel..." he'd revealed, "but not with you." Silence. "You make me feel young. You make me feel alive."

"Sweety..." she whispered, turning over onto her side and draping her limbs across him. She didn't know what to say. He made her feel the same way, but unlike him, she couldn't stop being terrified of her future and of getting older. Even if it was with him. Not even he could stop what seemed to be the scariest thing for her right now-- the unknown.

"I look at you sometimes, and you're just so goddamn beautiful, Rach," he continued. "I just...it's like you immortalize me. I feel like I would never stop being young if I stayed with you."

Ross' perpetual romanticism somehow always managed to floor Rachel. It even scared her, at times. As flighty as she could be, and as serious and intellectual as Ross was...when it came to love, ironically enough, Rachel had always been the realist in the relationship. She burrowed up next to him and listened to his heart beating and kissed his salty skin, watching the sun burn out until the sky was nothing but wasted cigar ash and black crushed velvet. She fell asleep that night with his dream on her mind and a smile on her face. But it still scared her.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

In the present, Rachel contemplated all that had changed since that night so many years ago. Now, she was the more confident about their future (which was actually the present, depending on how one looked at it). And she was apparently no longer all he needed to stay immortalized.

She'd revert him back to his old ways of thinking, tonight, though. When he held that mirror up to her now, almost a decade removed from the first time, he'd find his confidence in them again-- in their ability to endure and keep each other honest. They'd be allowed the luxury of romanticism, once again. All it was going to take was a leap of faith and his trust in her.

She heard the key in the lock and closed her eyes, smiling widely and holding her breath. It was probably a good sign that she felt 16 again already.

"Rach?" she heard him call inquisitively from the front door. Her skin tingled. She could detect just a hint of anxiousness in his voice, like he was worried about her. She didn't feel too bad for him, considering what he was about to get.

"Rach?" she heard again, this time a little lower and closer. He was leading towards the bedroom. She felt her stomach sink, but in a very good way-- a way she hadn't felt in a long time.

The bedroom door was open, but the lights were off; even the lights in the living room. She saw his silhouette appear at the entrance and she could tell he sensed her there, even if he didn't see her. He stopped dead in his tracks and was starring straight ahead, obviously waiting for his eyes to adjust to he could see if she was actually there or not.

"Rachel?" he whispered. He got his answer in the form of a small pressure on his chest. A woman's hand. His woman's hand.

She leaned in close to him and nibbled his ear, pressing her body firmly up against his. Instinctively, his hands went to her waist, and he grabbed at her there as her tongue traced a line down his neck. Both of their breathing became strained, but neither said a word.

She felt his hands slide over her ass-- not groping, but more like claiming and examining his territory. She reached up on her tiptoes and began kissing his face and hair, gliding her hands over his back and feelings his pull her more tightly towards him.

"I want to see you," he finally spoke, only daring to murmur it timidly into her ear between two deep, long, drawn-out kisses. Instead of breaking their haven by turning on a light, she merely walked them backwards to the foot of the bed where smothered hints of faded light were creeping in between the window shades. Their bodies could just barely be made out now. For the first time since they'd begun, he really got a good look at her.

"Jesus Christ," he deadpanned, as if he were in disbelief that she could possibly be wearing that outfit and looking that gorgeous. Like he was in disbelief that she was his, even after this long. She smiled at the sentiment and sauntered towards him again, preparing to reinitiate their tryst.

Wrapping her arms slowly and seductively over his shoulders, she leaned her forehead against his. They stood that way for a long while, as if she were providing him time to catch his breath and consider what all of this meant. He was using the time, too-- attempting to sort all the cluttered, rampaging thoughts in his mind. It was considerably harder than usual to do that, however, with a raging hard-on pressing against your jeans and your dangerously sexy girlfriend, clad in lingerie, poised to pounce on you at any moment. He knew she had to mean SOMETHING by it, though. This wasn't exactly an everyday occurrence.

"Something on your mind?" she asked, surprised at herself when she wasn't hopeful for an answer. When she was planning this charade designed for him, she'd forgotten to account for her own hormones and needs. She was becoming inpatient, and her initial intentions were getting hazy. Maybe it would be better to analyze afterwards. After all, with them, their emotions and instincts always spoke more clearly than their words.

"About a million somethings, but they can all wait," he assured, robbing her of any chance to respond by immeditaly assaulting her lips with his in a bruising kiss. She wouldn't have challenged him on that motion, anyway.

It only took one clumsy step backwards for the backs of her knees to hit the edge of the bed and for them to go tumbling, him landing on top of her, neither ever breaking the kiss. Once he was on top of her, he went frenzied with passion, power, and lust. His hands were everywhere, ripping at her underwear with reckless abandon and biting at every new inch of skin revealed. It didn't take long for her to be laying completely naked beneath him, her thighs pressing into his sides and her pelvis thrusting up into his groin.

"Holy shit," he mumbled into her mouth, wedging his hands between her and the mattress to grab her ass and pull her closer. He hadn't been this afraid of 'losing it' before he could get inside the girl since his first time.

It had never been this passionate. Never. No even when they'd first been together, and back then, he hadn't thought it possible to get better. He'd obviously been wrong. Maybe that was the point, he considered. There was no time for consideration, though. He'd wonder later.

Somehow, he gauchely managed to rotate their bodies and move up the bed so that her head was pressed against the headboard. He knew he'd need it for leverage. He planned on doing things to her now that were probably technically illegal in most states. He couldn't ever remember wanting her this badly, and that was saying a lot. There had been times when they'd first gotten together that he'd thought he could cry from how beautiful and perfect and desirable she was. Back then, he'd coveted her for years and had finally won her over. Now, the thought of other men coveting her was what drove him, and he looked down at her with the utmost paradoxical combination of craving and possession. He knew she was his, but he could still feel his heart melting from when they were 25 and he'd finally attained her.

There was no time to even remove all of his clothing. He couldn't want that long. There were forces far stronger than his will power threatening to leave his body within seconds, and it was taking all of himself to restrain them until he could at least be inside her. She unzipped his pants for him and he kissed her vigorously, bracing himself atop her with one hand on each side of her head on the headboard. He was only in her hand for as long as it took her to guide him to her, but he silently counted his blessings for not losing it when he caught the image of her reaching inside his pants out of the corner of his eye. That sight alone was probably enough.

The first time he pushed into her was as deep and hard as most last thrusts, and she felt it somewhere deep inside her that ached in a thrilling, exciting way. She moaned his name, drawn-out and throaty, and he grunted in acknowledgement. 'Never stop making noises,' he thought as he drove repeatedly into her, losing all connection with the tangible world and retreating physically and spiritually inside her. Something about the noises she made were so goddamn sexy and...primal. He'd always loved it. He could still remember how aroused and pleasantly surprised he'd been that first night at the museaum when she'd made those first soft moans and his heart had leapt.

She pulled at his back and wrapped her legs tightly around him and hit the headboard each time with force, feeling the incredible pressure of him all around her. A man had never smelled or tasted or felt so good. It was impossible.

She vaguely recalled thinking that their first night together.

"Dont...stop...please..." she irrationally begged between thrusts, feeling her back, now, against the cold wood of the headboard and suddenly realizing that she had practically been forced into a sitting-up position from the force he was using. As he zeroed in on a particular spot, she felt heartbreak rise steadily and her breathing become thready and forced.

"Go," she instructed. "Go now." Knowing exactly what she meant, he stopped holding in what had been forcing its way out of him for at least 30 minutes now, yelling out and collapsing heavily on top of her, almost sure that she'd gone, too.

They laid there like that for what seemed like hours, her rubbing his back and him kissing her neck and stroking her sides. Rather oddly, but appropriately for them, he removed his clothes now, in the aftermath, just to be naked with her for the sake and intimacy of it. They both knew they'd have to pick up Emma soon, but relished the feeling of being together this way, so uninhibitedly and connected so deeply and sincerely.

"Do you feel young again, now?" she asked, refusing to beat around the bush.

"I had a feeling that's what all of this was about," he confessed.

"Did it work?" she persisted, her voice hopeful but almost doubtful.

"A little too well, probably," he joked, lifing his head to look up into her eyes. He suddenly became serious. "I've never wanted you more or felt more alive," he deadpanned, purging every last ounce of honesty in his body into that one sentence. She smiled and kissed him tenderly. They laid in silence for a bit longer.

"Ross, you do remember what you told me that night the air conditioning was broken?" she asked, knowing instictively he would.

"I do," he assured.

"Do you still feel that way?" This was the real question, after all.

"Yes," he nodded.

"Could have fooled me," she joked, just glad that all of this was apparently over. He tucked some hair behind her ear.

"Call it a premature midnife crisis," he offered, only half-joking. "But I've found it again."

She nodded he laid his head back down against her breast. They both closed their eyes and countd down the moments until they'd have to leave.

"Oh, and Rachel?" he added.

"Yes?"

"You're still every bit as beautiful, too."


	8. Chapter 8

For this chapter, assume Emma's with a babysitter while they're out on their own. 

Also, the scenes I described of actual places are fabrications of my overly idealistic imagination.  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ever since they'd returned from their vacation, the air around the apartment and between them had been different- lighter than before. They were like young lovers again. He'd catch her gazing longingly at him from across the table over dinner, and then she'd feel him brush firmly up against her (purposefully, no doubt) when he was clearing the dishes. Their eyes would meet at the most domestic and comfortable of moments, like when they were tucking their daughter in, igniting a reassuring spark to the moment, affirming that their lives were not so monotonous but actually something rather spectacular.

One night, when winter was just beginning to melt it's last layer of snow and biting cold away, the two were curled up in front of the fireplace in the living room, reading and watching television and drinking tea. Emma was already in bed for the night, and the balcony door was opened, letting the cool night breeze fan through the apartment. Surely there had never been a stiller, quieter, more peaceful moment.

Ross sat down the book he was reading and propped his feet up on the coffee table, glancing over to his right to find Rachel curled up in the big chair underneath the Indian afghan, fast asleep. Smiling, he muted the fashion show she'd been watching and got up from the couch, moving to lay down beside her in the cozy, oversized white chair.

He laid his face right beside hers, tucking the hair that had fallen across her face (as it always did) behind her ear. He rubbed his hand down her arm and settled it on her hip, taking a few subdued moments for himself to just stare are her and track her steady breathing while she slept. It wasn't too long before she felt his presence through her sleep and opened her eyes to find him laying there, staring back at her.

"Mmm, hi," she greeted, smiling warmly and closing her eyes again.

"You fell asleep on me," he noted.

"If I had really fallen asleep on you, I think you would know it," she punned. He rolled his eyes and she giggled.

"You think you're so funny."

"Well that's because I am, Sweety," she retaliated, always having a comeback, in true Rachel fashion.

It got quiet again, and the moments came and went, washing over them like warm water lapping at their skin. At one point, Ross got up and went into the kitchen to close the balcony door, but he came right back and resumed his former position, simply laying beside her in silence and breathing in the same air. When he did so, she lifted the afghan up as in invitation for him to crawl beneath it with her. He obliged, settling in next to her, intertwining their legs and draping an arm affectionately around her waist.

"Are we going to sleep out here?" she asked, settling her face into his chest and breathing in the sweet scent of his cologne, mixed with another distinct aroma that was totally, naturally him.

"We can," he submitted, "but we should go to bed soon. Tomorrow's going to be a big day."

"It's Saturday," she reminded him, a bit thrown off by his comment. She racked her brain, trying to remember any plans they'd scheduled. She couldn't recall any. The crooked smile on his face told her he was up to something. "You're up to no good," she wagered, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Maybe..." he chuckled.

"What time is your little surprise going to require me getting up?" she asked. "Because, you know, Emma doesn't have to be at her Saturday morning class until 11, and I hadn't-"

"Shhh." He lifted his finger to her lips. "Don't worry about a thing."

The way Ross said that somehow always immediately made all of her stress and anxiety disappear. Albeit, the gesture really held no more meaning or authority than when anyone else offered it, but the inextricable combination of his heartening tone and the soft promise of his eyes told her she really DIDN'T have to worry about a thing.

"You're amazing," she confided, sighing heavily but smiling. A little embarrassed at her sudden display of uninhibited emotion, she could literally feel tears coming to her eyes. This man never ceased to surprise and delight her. For as dull and predictable as some people saw her boyfriend being, he always managed to keep her on her toes- always guessing.

"That's what you're supposed to say AFTER I do this..." he trailed off, leaning in and placing a delicate yet firm kiss on her mouth. He bit down on her bottom lip a little, dragging his teeth over it and sucking on it gently before letting go. That was something else Ross was- gentle. He was so careful and protective with her. Sometimes, even in the privacy and solitude of their home, she felt like he was trying to shelter her from something.

"Come on," she whispered, getting up and taking his hand, leading him back into their bedroom.

She undressed him and then herself, sliding in underneath the substantial pile of blankets and duvets and comforters. She felt like protecting him tonight, bringing him to lay on top of her with his head resting against her breasts. She stroked his hair and his back. Now, it was her turn to watch and listen to him sleep.

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"Hey, hey, hey! Good morning Manhattan! Before you pack that picnic basket, be sure to grab an umbrella, because those rain clouds overhead are-"

Ross hit the alarm clock off with a raucous 'slam', pounding his palm against the snooze button and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Looking over to his left, he was surprised to see that the obnoxiously fervent radio jockey hadn't woken Rachel. 'Good thing,' he thought. He didn't even have to turn around to look out the window behind their bed to know it was raining. He could hear the heavy drops thumping against the pane. It was 8 a.m., and still the sun's rays hadn't encroached upon their bedroom. What a shitty day for his surprise.

Climbing into the shower, he considered how he might have to alter his initial plan. A lot of what he'd intended had involved being outside. There was no way he was going to cop out, now, though. He'd been at least subconsciously planning on doing this- or something very similar to it- for a long time. Actually, more accurately, he'd been putting this off for a very long time. No more.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and emerged from the bathroom, drying off his hair with a smaller one, to find Rachel sitting up in bed. She smiled at the image of 'her man', so fresh-smelling and clean, padding around their room in nothing but a makeshift sarong.

"Hey there," she greeted warmly. He smiled before walking into the closet.

"Hey yourself," he replied, shuffling through his wardrobe for a good combination of classy but casual.

He didn't want to overdue the outfit. Rachel paid very close attention to clothing- more so than he'd ever be able to fathom. If he went overboard with the outfit, she'd undoubtedly catch onto something. He finally settled on a dark brown pair of corduroys, a dark green long-sleeves shirt, and a light blue short-sleeves dress shirt over that. The layering added refinement, but still nothing too out of the ordinary. Plus, Rachel had previously told him she liked it when he wore a long-sleeved shirt with a short-sleeved dress shirt over it. Remembering little things like that were pricelessly important when attempting to charm a woman.

When he appeared from the closet, Rachel definitely took notice. She cocked an intrigued eyebrow and pushed back the covers, lifting herself from the bed and crossing the room to more closely examine him. She playfully straightened his collar and wiped some invisible debris from his shirt, just like she always did when she thought he was looking especially sharp. He smiled, pleased with himself.

"I feel so underdressed," she announced, leaning seductively into him and placing a small kiss on his neck. Ross looked down at what she was wearing- ah, the infamous 'black thing that he likes'. He smiled contentedly.

"Well, if this is underdressed, please, by all means..." he joked. She patted his chest and brushed passed him into the closet to pick up his damp, discarded towel. She was going to be nice this morning and not berate him for it.

"Where are you going, all dressed up?" she asked.

"Get dressed, you're coming, too," he recovered, craftily sidestepping the question. She looked captivated but skeptical.

"What? Where?"

"It's a surprise, I told you last night!" he reminded her, taking her by the shoulders, turning her around and steering her towards the bathroom. "Now, as much as I hate to see this go," he teased, referring to her nighty, "get in the shower and hurry up."

"Wait!" she protested. "What should I wear?"

"Anything you want. Where we're going doesn't have a dress code."

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"Ross, this is silly," she insisted. He'd refused to let her leave the apartment without wearing the blindfold. She felt ridiculous, not to mention slightly annoyed, since they'd been riding in this cab for a good 20 minutes.

"Just a few more blocks," he assured.

Finally, the cab screeched to a halt once they'd reached their destination. Ross paid the cabbie and guided Rachel from the car and onto the sidewalk. She could tell they were still in a prominent area of the city because she heard the honking of horns and could feel the buzz of energy coming off the hoards of people surrounding her. Standing behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and gently encouraged her to walk forwards.

"Are people staring?" she asked, already knowing the answer too well, though. He chuckled. Classic Rachel.

"Don't worry about them." He dismissed her enquiry by briefly massaging her shoulders as he steered her forward. She felt his touch leave her momentarily and she almost panicked until she felt him grab her hand and pull her into a building, holding the door for her.

Her shoes clicked against a hard, polished granite when they stepped inside the foyer of the building, and the noise reverberated off the walls, telling her they must be in sizable room with raised ceilings. It was most likely some commercial local- like a restaurant or theater.

"Listen, I'm going to have to leave you for a few minutes," he informed.

"Ross, no! You're not going to leave me in a strange place with this stupid thing on my head! No!" She protested, obviously, just as he'd expected her to. He took both her hands in his and squeezed them comfortingly, placing a kiss on her knuckles.

"Don't worry, I'll only be a few minutes. Just don't go anywhere," he instructed, immediately realizing how ridiculous that sounded.

"Funny," she deadpanned, crossing her arms and pursing her lips. "This had better be worth it," she scolded.

'If she only knew,' he thought to himself, before stepping away from her, leaving her to standing alone in the corner of the lobby.

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'That's it,' she thought. 'If he's not back in the next minute, I'm taking this damn thing off."

Rachel obviously couldn't check her watch, but she could ballpark the amount of time Ross had been gone, and it was definitely more than 'a few minutes'. She was getting antsy. She was anxious and excited and scared about whatever it was he had in store for her. It wasn't helping the knot in her stomach that she didn't know where the hell she was, either.

One kind of odd thing she had noticed, however, was the apparent lack of activity around her. Wherever they were, they seemed to be more-or-less alone, save the sporadic couple of people she could vaguely hear chatting as they walked by every few minutes. Just as she was about to literally pull the 'blinders' from in front of her eyes, she felt a hand touch her arm.

"Sorry," he whispered. She sighed, relieved he'd returned to her, but also more than a little annoyed.

"I sure hope you're okay," she began, "because, as soon as you take this thing off me, I'm going to kick your ass."

"Oh, I don't think so," he replied knowingly, and she could hear the smile accompanying his tone. It reassured her.

"So what's the deal?" she sighed. "Can I take this thing off yet, or what?" Preemptively, she reached up and took the fabric in her hands. She stopped her.

"Wait," he commanded. "Before you do, I have to give you your instructions."

"My instructions?" she asked.

"Yeah, see, there are a few rules to the game..."

"What game?" She was becoming increasingly curious. Game? What was he up to? Whatever it was, he was being especially shrewd with his hint-giving.

"First, when I say to take off the blindfold, you have to keep your eyes closed for 10 more seconds," he informed. "I wont be here when you open them."

"What!" she exclaimed, possibly a bit loudly and more harshly than she'd intended.

"Shhh," he chuckled, more than slightly amused at her confusion. He placed his hand on her arm. "That brings me to the second thing. When you do open your eyes, there'll be a white envelop on the counter to your left. Open it and do what it says."

"Ross, this is-"

"Just trust me," he interrupted, not allowing her to say anything negative about his well-constructed, elaborate plan.

"Fine. Anything else?" she asked begrudgingly, finally giving into the fact that Ross had, somehow, talked her into this.

"Yeah..." he whispered. She felt both his hands steady themselves on her waist, right before his smooth, warm lips caressed hers lightly. "I love you," he whispered against her ear. Before she could react, he'd pulled away. "Now, take off the blindfold."

And when she did, as expected, he was nowhere to be seen.

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The sight Rachel opened her eyes to literally winded her. She must have looked like a fool- standing there with her mouth agape, glaring in wonderment at the scene surrounding her.

She was standing in the middle of the Plaza's new solarium room.

All around her, vines, trees, and flowers whined their way around every crevice of the room. In the center in front of her, there was a giant waterfall that gave way to a babbling brook, accented by stone walkways and walls. Overhead, the rain outside beat down on a gigantic glass done.

Once she'd collected herself, she remembered the 'instructions' Ross had given her, and gathered the presence of mind to walk over to the counter to her left. It was actually the Information Desk, but no attendant was monitoring it. Sitting atop the black granite counter was a simple white envelop, accompanied by a vase of purple and white lilies. She opened the letter and read its contents.

_Rachel,_

_Thought I'd mix things up and start at the end._

_For now, though, let's travel back in time, starting with where it all began. I'll spare you the trip to Long Island._

_Ross_

Ah, a scavenger hunt. Rachel shook her head and smiled. She should have known. Ross would settle for nothing less romantic or cliche.

Now, a beginning for them that wasn't on Long Island...

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Stepping inside the double doors of Central Perk, doused in rain and squeezing the excess water from her hair, Rachel almost laughed aloud when she saw the wedding dress laid across the counter with a matching white envelop. At least she'd made it to the second hint.

She smiled at Gunther as she made her way to the bar.

"Rachel!" he all but yelled.

"Hi, Sweety," she greeted. She'd missed this man- this place. Glancing over at the couch, she felt a sharp emptiness in her gut at the sight of four strangers sitting on the couch. Sensing her sadness, Gunther offered his own form of condolence.

"They're not as fun as you guys," he grinned warmly. She patted his arm.

"Aw, thank you, Honey. So Ross was here earlier, huh?"

"Yup," he confirmed, gesturing towards the dress. "He asked me to put this out around noon. You guys getting married?" he asked, an overbearing hint of regret and sorrow tainting his voice. Her heart broke a little for his endless crush on her.

"Not to my knowledge," she tried to joke.

"Well, he left you this letter." He picked it up and handed it to her, smiling one last time before disappearing into the back.

_Rachel,_

_This place witnessed so many of our firsts. Here's hoping there wont be any lasts._

_Tell Gunther I owe him one._

_Home to no one but us._

_Ross_

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Rachel scaled those stairs slowly, remembering the last time she descended them and how she'd thought she'd never come back again.

Standing alone, in that moment, in the interstice between those two faithful apartments, she'd never felt so small or lonely.

Knowing they both belonged to someone else now- that she could not knock on either without being met by unfamiliar, unwelcoming faces- she felt like crying. She knew complete strangers were living behind those walls, and that thought alone was almost enough to make her vomit. She felt a hot tear slide down her cheek.

Ross was right, though. It would never be home to anyone but them.

Looking down beside that door she'd stumbled into on so many nights with Ross, so many years ago, she found another one of his letters. That made her smile- like some part of them would always be here, even when the current tenants didn't know it.

_Rach,_

_I bet you'd give your right arm to hear that duck quaking now, huh?_

_I met the new people when I dropped this off last night. Despite what I know we'd all like to believe, they're actually very nice. They could spend the rest of their lives here, though, and never know this place like we do._

_Monica told me you'd kill me for this next one, and she's probably right, but it has to be done. It's a part of us- a big part. I know we agreed to put it behind us forever, but I'll never stop being sorry._

_Ross_

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As Rachel approached the small storefront, she held her breath and peeked through the window. Closing her eyes, she sighed thankfully when she saw the sole person working behind the counter to be an elderly man. She didn't know what she could have done if it had been her.

Entering the store, she saw her letter sitting on the counter, and she knew she'd guessed correctly. Unlike all the others, she'd had doubts about this one. She didn't know if he actually had the balls to bring this back up. He was right, though- it was a big part of them. If he was trying to recreate their chronology together, there was really no avoiding this subject. It was their greatest divider and merger- enfeebler and strengthener.

"Hi, my name's Rachel," she smiled sweetly to the old man. "I think this envelope's for me."

"Oh, yes, of course!" he cheerfully acknowledged. "A tall, young fella' dropped it off here yesterday and said to just leave it out for ya' around 1. Must be some real special occasion, huh?" he smiled, and, despite Rachel's mixed feelings about her current location, she couldn't help but smile warmly back.

"Must be." He nodded and handed her the letter.

_Rach,_

_"There is no difficulty that enough love will not conquer, no disease that enough love will not heal, no door that enough love will not bridge, no wall that enough love will not throw down, no sin that enough love will not redeem... It makes no difference how deeply seated may be the trouble, how hopeless the outlook, how muddled the tangle, how great the mistake. A sufficient realization of love will dissolve it all.  
If only you could love enough, you could be the happiest and most powerful being in the world..." -Emmett Fox_

_Okay, so Monica found the quote for me. Thank you for loving me enough to forgive me and make me the happiest and most powerful man in the world._

_I know you didn't feel much like a mother, but I'd never seen you as more of one._

_Ross_

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Rachel walked into the lobby of her doctor's office. By this time, it was approaching 2 p.m., and she knew the office probably closed sometime within the next hour or so. She wasn't even entirely sure she'd guessed right this time, but that first sonogram when she hadn't been able to identify Emma was the first thing that had popped into her mind when she'd read Ross' note.

Her doubts grew when she didn't see the tell-tale white envelop anywhere. She approached the secretary at the front desk.

"Hi, my name's Rachel Green."

"Do you have an appointment?" he heavy-set woman grunted.

"Oh, uh, no, but I was just wondering, you wouldn't happen to have a small white envelop for me, would you?" she asked, hopefully. The woman glared questioningly at her for a few long seconds before answering.

"A tall, dark-haired guy drop it off?"

"Yeah!" she almost squealed. "Yeah, that's-that's for me." Obviously annoyed, the large woman pulled the letter out from behind the counter and handed it to her. This one had her name written in gold ink across the front, rather than black Sharpie, like all the others. Rachel thanked her and sat down on the leather love seat in the corner of the waiting room to open it. When she did, a small key fell out.

_Rach,_

_I know the Obstetrician's office is a pretty big trek from the copy place, but I couldn't leave our Emma out of the timeline, could I?_

_Don't worry, the next place is the last._

_I hope it's been worth the wait._

_Ross_

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Rachel had no doubts about the validity of this one. The last line had been a dead giveaway. She'd uttered those words herself so many years ago- she knew their connotations exactly.

When she'd stepped out of the cab, the rain had not yet relented, so she'd run for the overhang in front of the museum. After tugging on the locked glass door a few times and almost giving up completely, she realized what the key was for and inserted it into the hole.

Stepping into the entrance hall of the museum, memories came flooding back to her. She remembered walking into this hall 8 years ago, hand-in-hand with Ross, beaming with pride as his co-workers gawked at them. She'd been so proud to finally call herself 'his girlfriend'.

Now, it looked much different with all the lights off and her standing there alone, drenched, cold and confused as to what came next.

Before she had time to really worry, though, she noticed the vase of lilies sitting on the circular glass table in the center of the room. Walking over to it, however, she was surprised to find no envelop. What she did find was a trail of lily pedals on the ground. They led through the big, black double-doors directly in front of her.

She sighed deeply, unable to stifle the enormous smile that was creeping across her face. She felt her hands tremble, and goosebumps prickle all over her skin. No matter what he had in store, Ross was waiting for her beyond that door, and that notion, for some reason, was exciting her more than the prospect of anything else.

She urged herself forward and through the doors.

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Everything hit her at once. For the first time in her life- maybe the first time in anyone's life - every sensory perception she had was alive and processing at the same time. Everything hit her at once, and she took it all in simultaneously. She wasn't missing even one, miniscule detail.

The dimmed lights. The hundreds of candles. The thousands of lilies. The soft music. The man standing before her, in the center of the room.

The message written in the stars.

_Will you marry me?_

If she had been thinking coherently, she would have hated herself for reacting so completely predictably and...well...Rachely. She WASN'T thinking coherently, though- not even close. So she let the tears flow, and her shoulders shake with her sobs, and she let her eyes lock with his. The scene was much like that of her return from the airport, but the senses even MORE hightened (if that were possible) and the moment even more surreal.

_Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm And your cheeks so soft There is nothing for me but to love you And the way you look tonight_

He approached her, smiling.

"I'd sing along but, uh, I can't carry a tune," he admitted.

"I know," she nodded jokingly, smiling in return and reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. He just stood there in front of her for a few seconds, existing with her inside the moment- taking it in with her. During one instance, he reached up and caught some of the tears for her, and she placed her hand over his on her cheek. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

"So?" he asked, and his heart actually stopped.

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	9. Chapter 9

This section rated R. It's their engagement night... :-) 

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It took Rachel a moment to bring herself back to reality, away from that lingering trance she'd been suspended in, filled with thousands of memories of their yesterdays. It was the velvety magnetism of his voice that pulled her back into the moment.

"Rachel?" he gulped, still holding the opened box out to her, his tone actually guarded and worried, now. Her eyes, wide and teary, noticed the way the dim light caught the diamond and reflected off of it.

"Yes?" she asked, though she knew it was both a question and something elsesomething more certain.

"Yes?" he asked hopefully and suddenly, both misunderstanding her word and decoding its true meaning.

"Yes," she stated this time, nodding and smiling.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, snapping the box shut, clapping his hands together once loudly, and jumping up from his knee to take her in his arms, lift her, and whirl her around. She yelped and giggled and embraced him back, waiting for him to set her back down to take his face in her hands.

"Yes," she whispered again, this time through free-flowing, unrestrained tears. "Yes."

"Yes!" The exclamation hadn't been uttered by either of them, and when they turned in the direction of the collective yell, they saw a group of 3 emerge from behind a giant partition, clapping and beaming proudly.

"It's about damn time!" Phoebe explicated, smiling from ear-to-ear.

"What is this?" Rachel asked Ross, her arms around his middle, looking astounded, if not a tad embarrassed, that her friends had been there the whole time.

"Yeah, I kind of invited them," he revealed. "I thought since they put up with us for so long, they all deserved to be here."

"Well, not really all," Rachel pointed out. "Joey's not here."

"Oh, he's coming," Chandler butted in. "He said to tell you sorry he couldn't get an earlier flight, but he'll be here later tonight."

"Well, then, I guess this calls for a celebration!" Monica grinned. "Drinks at the Plaza?"

"Aw, Mon, come one, we don't have to do that," Rachel humbly shook her head, one arm still draped around her new fiance's waist. Her best friend smiled warmly.

"No, it's okay. I want to." She took her friend's hand and squeezed gently, reassuringly.

"Alright then," Rachel cheerfully commenced, clapping her hands together once, "let's start celebrating!"

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The assemblage of five rolled up to the 5th Avenue hotel around 7 o'clock that night, dressed to the nines and escorted by a decked-out limousine, ordered and paid for collaboratively by Chandler and Joey as a prelude to an engagement gift for the couple.

Stepping out of the sleek, black luxury vehicle and onto the asphalt, Ross wrapped his arm around Rachel's waist and placed his hand low on her hip, tucking her protectively to his side, having never been more proud to show her off as his- not only his girlfriend or the mother of his child...but his fiancee. She was wearing a tight, black, strapless dress with strappy black heels and diamond necklace to match her new ring. Matching her black attire elegantly, but also a bit more casually, Ross sported a simple white undershirt with the top collar unbuttoned, black dress pants and a black blazer. With the sleeves rolled up and his hair gelled, he didn't look a day over 30, and the woman at his side, playing with his hands and purring in his ear, made him feel even younger.

The interior of the hotel was decorated extravagantly, as expected, based upon all of their (few) previous encounters with the establishment. Everything seemed like a haze of some combination of gold-plated, crystal, mahogany, or granite. They made their way back to one of the many lounges, taking their seats at the bar and breathing in their hustle and bustle of their glamorous surroundings.

Chandler's cell phone chirped over the background of people laughing and socializing.

"Yyyello'," he answered cheerfully. After a beat, his eyebrows rose and a smile spread across his face. "It's Joey! He's in a cab on his way here."

"Oh, tell him to hurry!" Rachel chirped, obviously giddy to see her recently estranged friend. Ross looked down at her and smiled at her ceaseless buoyancy and the way light and glamour seemed to seep from her skin. She was glowing. He nuzzled his nose to her ear and kissed her cheek, unable to contain his excitement. Tonight was, with the exception of the days Emma and Ben were born, the best moment of his life.

The bartender was soon taking their orders, flipping bottles, setting the counter aflame and whatnot, adding to the upbeat and impossibly exhilarating ambiance of the evening. Within minutes, the sixth and final member of the group came bounding through the double doors of the lounge, a toothy smile painted across his face. After the routine "heys!" were cast, and, of course, the customary hugs, Joey started in on his personalized congratulations for the happy couple.

"So what about you two, huh? I can't believe it!" He wrapped his arms around both Ross and Rachel, squeezing tightly. "Did you do it the way we'd talked about?" Ross turned his glance down, bashfully, and merely smiled and nodded, but Rachel was intrigued.

"Wait a minute, so _everyone _knew how you were going to do it?" she asked. Looking around, they all nodded.

"Well, technically, Rach, _you_ knew how I was going to do it," Ross pointed out. "Remember?" Rachel paused for a moment before she realized he was right, so she let it go.

"So," Joey continued, "what's next?"

"Well, customarily, the wedding," Chandler chimed in.

"I mean _after_ that," the Bert to his Ernie corrected. "You guys are already living together...you have a kid..._why_ didn't do you this sooner, again?"

"Well, hey, look how great it turned out!" Ross pointed out. "We just get to have all the fun stuff, now, like the wedding, and the honeymoon, and the tax breaks! We don't have to worry about all the technicalities, like, you know, moving, and selling apartments. So, _really_, I just made it easier by wai"

"Oh, come on, admit it. You were just too nervous to do it sooner," Rachel teased, swatting him playfully on the chest and grinning. In return, Ross smiled back and thread his fingers through hers, leaning into her and kissing her forehead. Tonight, as much as he loved being in the presence of their friends and sharing this momentous occasion with them...well, tonight was about him and his future wife. Nothing else mattered as much as that.

An hour or so later, the six found themselves slightly tipsy and paired off on the dance floor, singing and dancing to oldies and top 10 pop songs, alike, cocktails still in hand, partying more like they did in their early 20s and less like people in their mid 30s. When a slow song mellowed the mood of the crowd, Ross grabbed Rachel and pulled her tightly into him, possessively wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his nose in her hair. He smiled at how familiar it smelt and how soft her skin was against his. With her stomach pressed tightly against his, her back slightly arched where his hands met at waist, and her head resting against his chest, he didn't think they'd ever fit together more perfectly. They were molded as one.

A slow piano part lulled the crowd, and the bodies of individuals became only a part of a collective sea of swaying. The base was slow and deep, but the tune nostalgically familiar.

When the night has come and the land is dark and the moon is the only light we'll see No I won't be afraid No I won't be afraid Just as long as you stand Stand by me

His thumbs rubbed in a disciplined up-and-down motion against the curve where her back met her ass, and even through the fabric of her dress, she got the chills. He kissed her hair, then her forehead, then, ever so lightly, her lips. A smile. An acknowledgment. Gratitude. Eternal gratitude.

If the sky that we look upon should tumble and fall Or the mountains should crumble to the sea I won't cry I won't cry No I won't shed a tear Just as long as you stand Stand by me

When she burrowed her cheek more firmly into the nook between his shoulder and neck, he thought he felt the stinging coolness of a tear evaporate against his skin, but he couldn't be sure. He didn't need to look at her face, though, to know she was feeling the same thing he was feeling. Relief. Finally. Things were right.

Darlin', darlin' Stand by me Stand by me

Suddenly, inside himself, Ross felt a hot, throbbing, entreating drive. It wasn't wholly desire, but it wasn't as innocent as relief or gratitude. He was noticing the swaying of her hips, and feeling the softness of her skin, and admiring the long shimmer of her hair, and the pout of her lips, and the way her fingers were digging possessively into his back, and he was slowly realizing that this...this was his engagement night. His _final_ engagement night. The only engagement night he'd ever wanted- had ever _dreamed_ of- since he was a boy.

And now, appropriately enough, he was feeling like a boy again. He was feeling that same aching he had when he was 17 and would see Rachel from a distance in the hallway or, Jesus, when he'd brush shoulders with her in the tight proximity of the kitchen when she'd be over visiting Monica. The glorious difference now was that he knew she wanted him back, and, not surprisingly, based upon his knowledge from their enumerate sexual encounters, he couldn't wait to get her home where he wouldn't have to just look longingly. From what he could tell, she was having the same thoughts.

"Uh, Rach?" he whispered lowly in her ear, so rough and pining that it was more like a moan.

"Yeah, I know," she giggled, rubbing his back in circles and smiling innocently at him (though he knew she wasn't thinking innocent thoughts).

"Any ideas about how to get out of here without offending anyone?" he asked, realizing instantly, however, when she stepped away from him and he got his first good look at her in a while, that he was finding it exponentially harder to care about offending anyone and almost solely about being alone with her as soon as possible.

"Well," she began, smiling mischievously and pulling him towards her by his shirt, "this_is_ a hotel..."

Catching her drift, his eyes lit up like a kid in a candy shop, stunned with utter disbelief at the sight and possibility presented before him. Playing with the dress material on her hips, he cocked an eyebrow.

"Are you suggesting we sneak away?" She nodded. "Rachel Green, I didn't know you had it in you."

"Oh," she began, sucked in air through her teeth and walking her fingers up his chest to land them on his lips, "I have a feeling there's a lot you didn't know I had in me."

Grabbing her suddenly and forcefully by her waist, much like he had the time she'd told him she liked the idea of him in a sailor uniform, he pushed her quickly away from the middle of the dance floor, out of the lounge, into the lobby, and up to the front desk.

"Stay here," he commanded, his tone no longer playful but determined. Bounding up to the man behind the counter, he requested- no, demanded- the first available room. Knowing that this was The Plaza and, consequently, it was most likely almost entirely booked for the next 6 months, he would take anything he could get. He needed her. Now. No obstaclemonetary or otherwisecould stand in his way.

After booking a rather expensive room that would ultimately end up setting them back a few hundred dollars for the rest of the month, Ross grabbed her hand assertively and pulled her in the way of the elevator. Fueled off of his obvious excitement at the vicariousness and spontaneity of what they were about to do- that it was so unplanned, so reckless, so irresponsible and so secretive- thrilled Rachel.

Admittedly, their love life hadn't been as impulsive since they'd gotten back together so many months ago. They'd had a lot of baggage to get rid of. There'd been a lot of nights of needy sex, preceded by enraged arguments and cold shoulders, proceeded by crying and slammed doors. There'd also been a lot of routine, which they hadn't been used to the first time they'd dated, as they hadn't had the added pressure and responsibility of an infant to take care of. They both loved Emma more than life itself, but a baby does little for romance.

Tonight was their chance to start over- literally, a new era of their life was beginning, and it would be, fittingly enough, inaugurated with a vibrancy they'd reclaim from the last era. They'd begin their life as a married couple like they'd ended the one as 20-something fools in love. It was almost heartbreaking in its ingenuousness. They were opening a new book without having to completely close the last one.

When the elevator doors opened, Ross let out a thankful sigh when he realized it was empty. Pulling her swiftly inside before the doors closed, he quickly turned her around and pressed her against the metal side of the small space, grabbing her waist roughly with one hand and bracing himself with the other one on the wall beside her head. His mouth was everywhere as soon as the doors shut, both moving their heads from one side to another, alternating, grinding their hips together, moaning into each other's mouths.

'Our room is on the 9th floor,' he thought. 'That's enough time to kiss her, to touch her.' He was desperate for anything. He would crawl inside her if he could. He clawed at her back, her ass, her breasts. Only the "ding" of the machine reaching its programmed destination reminded him that he couldn't take off her clothes. 'Not yet. Not here. Collect yourself.'

Whether anyone was in the hallway, he was unsure of. He refused to tear his lips from hers even long enough to check or to walk to the room. Stumbling backwards, he pulled at her hips and urged her forward, reminding him much of the night of her going away party, when they'd so recklessly staggered backwards to his bed, as much passion fueling them now, if not more, than had that night.

Room 1703. Theirs. Not a moment too soon. Fumbling with the lock while she began unbuttoning and untucking his shirt, kissing his shoulder, his throat, his back, he slid the jagged metal clumsily into the lock and forced open the door, leaving just enough time to step inside before slamming it closed again.

Before he knew it, she had his jacket off and his shirt fully unbuttoned. Neither even knew what the interior of the room looked like, as the lights had yet to be turned on and they hadn't torn themselves from one another since they'd entered. Pressing her against the wall beside the door, he could feel himself beginning to unravel already. Even for as many times as they'd been together (and with other people, for that matter), he still had to pace himself when he was with her. She was so hot and everywhere at once and he was so lucky...

"I wont make it to the bedroom," he whispered into her ear, sucking on it for good measure and pressing his groin into her stomach to exhibit his point.

"Couch," she moaned between kisses, allowing him to pick her up and carry her backwards into the dark, unexplored vastness of the room, feeling around for walls and objects but also not wanting to take her hands from him. This time didn't need to be perfect. This was their engagement night, so she knew full well this wouldn't be their only time. This time, however, was about right nowabout them being together, physically, to celebrate the commencement of a spiritual togetherness.

Finally finding the plush velvet couch, the color of which was indistinguishable through the dense blackness, he sat her on the arm and positioned himself between her thighs while they proceeded to undress each other. He rid her of everything- even her necklace- except for the ring. Fitting. Emblematic. Symbolic.

"I love you," he couldn't help but moan into her mouth, the phrase spilling out of him against his will. He felt it so innately- so deeply and instinctively- that he sometimes thought he wouldn't be able to keep from saying it even if his life depended on it. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tangled her hands in his hair, and kissed him even more passionately, nodding in return.

"I know, baby," she whispered, running a hand down his cheek. He stopped the intensity of their actions for a moment to pull back and look at her- her eyes watering from utter satisfaction and her lips curling into a smile that only he'd ever see. He brushed the bangs from her eyes, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and placed an open-mouth kiss on her shoulder. They sat like that for a few minutes, breathing together and slowing down, taking a moment for each other in a suspended embrace, seeping into the other's skin. He kissed her shoulder again, then her collar bone, then her breast, and back up to her neck. Speeding up again to match their earlier pace, he attached his lips back to hers and slid his hands beneath her ass, walking her around to straddle him on the couch.

When he lowered her onto himself, a deafening ringing encompassed his ears. The room spun. His head floated. His vision blurredexcept for her face, her face was always clear. This was his Great Awakening. This was his Armageddon. This was the only thing he'd ever need again, and he could die happy.

His biceps expanded and contracted as he lifted her up and down into his lap, and she watched them pulsating, turned on by how seamlessly he could bear her entire weight. He'd always been able to do that. It was one of the many reasons their sex had always been so amazing. He could govern her with his strength and she him with her toxic equanimity.

He was her protector. Her keeper. Her guardian. She belonged to him, and him to her, and every grunt and bite he purged into her shoulder only reaffirmed that. Every bead of sweat that dropped from her hair or brow onto him baptized him anew. He was reborn in her.

At one point towards the end, when he was pulling her especially hard into his lap, his mind already beginning to cloud and his judgment more than slightly on the brink, she was breathing impossibly hard and moaning what he thought was a bit harshly and, oh shit, he was hurting her, he was sorry, what had he-

"I'm sorry," he repeatedly murmured into her chest, kissing her a thousand and one times, rubbing her back, stopping his thrusts, folding himself over and into her. "Shit, I'm sorry, sweety."

"No, no, it's okay," she breathed, stroking his hair and kissing his temple. "You're okay."

Reaffirmed, he began again, knowing it wouldn't be too much longer. It wouldn't take much more. She was close, too- he could feel it. He could always feel it. The warning signs were variations on a theme, every time. She'd squint her eyes tightly, throw her head back just so, moan and breath from a deeper place in the back of her throat, and, most prophetically, she'd begin to subconsciously whisper his name, over and over again. He'd never heard it said so eloquently. It was his favorite part of the encounter, every time, to hear his name pass so rhythmically over her lips, so deprived and desperate for him. She'd done it every time, all 387 times, now, since that very first time underneath those forged stars on the planetarium floor. 'She wants me,' he'd thought that night when she'd called out his name. 'Rachel wants _me_.'

He hoped to God she only did it with him- that that was his, theirs, together, to share.

Soon, all of her would be his, theirs, together, to share.  
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	10. Chapter 10

Third-to-last chapter, folks.

I know bachelor parties are customarily right before the wedding day, but...eh, not in my story.

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Ross gazed absorbedly into the mirror, attempting to straighten his tie. He was already running a little late, and Joey and Chandler would be there any minute to pick him up for the bachelor party they insisted on throwing for him. Ironically enough, he hadn't even wanted one, deeming them archaic and a little tacky for his taste, but it had been Rachel who'd insisted he 'be a man' and 'let the slutty ladies take their clothes off in front of him'. She's then, of course, kissed him on the cheek and added "but not ON you".

Knock, knock, knock.

"Hey, Rach, can you get that!" he shouted from the bedroom. He decided to go sans jacket. That seemed too formal for a bachelor party.

It walked out into the living room to be greeted by the picture of his beautiful fiancee and his two best friends. He couldn't help but smile. Life was good.

"Hey guys," he greeted, coming to stand beside Rachel and placing his hand on her lower back. "Bye Sweety." He kissed her on the forehead and moved towards the door.

"Remember what I told you, Chandler," Rachel warned. "No naked women sitting on my fiance." Chandler winked and nodded.

"I'll take care of it," he promised.

"Yeah," Joey assured. "We'll send all the naked women my way."

Ross rolled his eyes before assuring Rachel one final time that he'd be back at an acceptable hour and sans lipstick marks.

"Besides," he whispered into her ear, pulling her close after the other two men had already begun making their way to the elevator, "you're the only woman I want dancing naked on me, and I'll be expecting full cooperation when I return."

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The strip club was actually fairly classy (at least as strip club go), with leather couches, thumping techno music, complimentary neon and strobe lights, a well-stocked bar and even a small waterfall at the back. Most of the men there looked about like Ross, Chandler and Joey, well-dressed and in their 30's, rather than a bunch of horny teenagers or groping old men. There were even a few women in the crowd, obviously sufficiently buzzed and there for shits and giggles on a girls' night.

Girls night, indeed.

Ross surveyed the landscape of the stage. Currently, 4 young women, all extremely attractive but also dangerously close to being minors, were gyrating, half-naked, around chrome poles in stilettos. Yep, he thought to himself, definitely a strip club.

"Hey, there's an open seat down in front!" Joey excitedly observed, grabbing Chandler's hand and pulling him towards the stage.

"Ross," Chandler deadpanned, "if I show up at your doorstep tomorrow with a suitcase, know I tried my hardest to convince my wife to stay married to me."

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"Rach!" Monica shouted upon entering her best friend's apartment.

"Yeah, just a second!" A minute later, Rachel appeared from the bedroom to find Monica sitting at the kitchen table looking visibly tired. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just forgot how exhausting getting in and out of this city is."

"Where are the twins?"

"Oh, I left them with mom and dad."

"Isn't it weird that we had to get babysitters tonight because our men are out at a strip club?" Rachel asked, though she had sent Carrie home a few hours ago when she had returned from work. Monica reached into her bag to reveal a large scrapbook-looking portfolio.

"Eh, not really. I mean, it's Chandler and Ross. Not much surprises me anymore. And you're sure you're okay with your fiance let loose out there with a bunch of naked women? And Joey?

"Hey, you're husband's out there with them!" Rachel reminded her, avoiding the question of jealousy. That had always been a pretty hot topic between her and Ross, and not pleasantly so, so she just as soon not admit that she still is and always will be jealous and possessive when it comes to him.

"I know, I was just joking! Rach, don't worry. You know they're good men. Besides, I'm sure Joey will pick up any girl who comes within a 10 foot radius of any of them before she can even lay a finger on Ross or Chandler."

"Okay, you're right," Rachel admitted, sitting down and trying to clear her head. "We've got more important things to worry about...like my wedding!" she exclaimed elatedly, clapping her hands together.

"That's right! Now, are you SURE you want Barbados. It's going to be June, you know. It gets to be like--"

"Monica, what did we agree about you trying to micromanage this wedding like you did with Phoebes?"

"Alright," she submitted, holding her hands up in mock surrender, "loud and clear."

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"Dude, is this not THE best bachelor party you've EVER been to?" Joey exclaimed, watching the stripper he'd just paid his $5 to saunter away from him, a goofy smile plastered across his face. Ross rolled his eyes but nodded, begrudgingly.

"Yeah, it's alright," he submitted. He glanced down at his watch. "We'd better get going pretty soon, though. I know I don't have class for another 2 days, but I feel like I'm losing brain cells just sitting in this place."

Chandler, obviously agreeing, satisfied with his requisite one lap dance for the evening, started to stand up.

"Yeah, I'm with you. Monica's going to kill me if I don't get home pretty soon."

Just as Ross was about to stand up and attempt to pull Joey from his seat, he felt something soft rub up against his back, followed by a sexy, sultry voice.

"You fella's leaving so soon?"

Ross whirled around to the site of an obviously Brazilian, half-naked woman standing before him, a devilish grin on her face and a wickedness about her eyes. She stroked his bicep absentmindedly through his dress shirt, sliding it down to his exposed forearms where he'd rolled his shirt sleeves up.

"Yeah, uh, we've got to be getting home to our...wives!" he fibbed a little, earning him a glare 'yeah right' glare from Joey.

"Yeah!" Chandler played along, seeing how dire this situation could become, and how uncomfortable Ross seemed. The girl was now snaking her other hand around Ross' waist, narrowing in on his ass. "God, we love 'em, but they're SCARY when they're mad. Alright then, come on, Ross!" he quickly added, feigning apologies and grabbing Ross by his arm.

The woman didn't let go, though. In fact, she only grabbed Ross tighter. Licking her lips, she made a point to roll her pelvis into his hip and move her mouth close to his ear.

"You know, we've got a special room for sexy bachelors like you in the back."

"Uh, I'm not a bachelor," he reminded her, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He tried to pull away, but not only did most of his muscles seem to be paralyzed by uneasiness, this little woman was actually a whole lot stronger than she looked.

"I happen to know that's a lie, and that this is your bachelor party," the woman revealed. "Why do you lie to me? I think we both know what you'd like to do right now."

Ross shivered, looking to the other two men for help. Both were seemingly frozen in place, looking back at him with equal confusion and horror. He closed his eyes and swallowed deeply, praying this woman wouldn't take that as a skewed sign of arousal, rather than the sign of terror that it was.

"Come on," she encouraged. "Be a man. You are free to do as you wish until you walk down that isle."

"Uh, I think my girlfriend would beg to differ," he contested. "My girlfriend whom I love VERY much," he added for emphasis. It did not seem to phase the pretty woman, though.

"Oh, just give me five minutes with you in the back, and I don't think you'll even be able to remember her name," the woman wagered. Knowing this had really gone too far, now, and that, had the tables been turned, he would be FUMING at the prospect of a man saying these things to Rachel, he rather aggressively tore away from the woman.

"No, look, this is not going to happen!" he exclaimed, stepping away from her and towards Chandler and Joey. He straightened his shirt and tie, feeling dirty. "I'm sorry, but we have to be going now. Excuse us." Before he could walk away, though, she'd whirled him around again.

"Oh, don't be such a prude," she spat, and before he knew what was happening, she had her arms tightly around his neck and her lips pressed against his. It took him a few seconds to even realize what was happening, but when he did, he pushed her away almost violently.

"Hey!" she shouted, suddenly outraged. "What the hell's the matter with you? You gay or something?"

"I told you, I'm in love with my fiancee! Now, maybe most of the guys who come in here and desperate and lonely and willing to just jump into the sack with any random stripper who throws herself at him, but not me!"

Proud of (and a little surprised at) the mature way in which their friend had handled himself, and unsure that even they could have been so composed, Chandler and Joey patted him on the back and nodded. Turning away, the three men walked out of the bar, leaving the stripper dumbfounded in their wake.

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Ross walked into his apartment around midnight that evening, frustrated that all the lights were turned off and Rachel was apparently nowhere to be found. She must have given up waiting on him. Maybe she'd even gone home for the evening with Monica for a nostalgic 'girls night', or something to that affect. Either way, after what happened at the strip club, he'd really been looking forward to seeing her. For some reason, he just knew it would dull his uneasiness.

He loosened his tie and made his way across the living room in the dark, careful not to stumble over anything. Before he could even make it over to the kitchen area, he saw a hint of light ignite from around the corner in their bedroom, and heard the light padding of footsteps. Rachel appeared from behind the corner in front of him dressed in a simple white tank top and a pair of yellow bikini-style undies. Her hair was messy, as she'd obviously been napping.

"Hi," she sweetly whispered, smiling and wrapping her arms around him. She stifled a yawn. "I was getting tired so I just laid down to rest my eyes when you came in. How was your night?"

He wrapped his arms in return around her and kissed the top of her head, feeling the stress wash off him. He debated about telling her.

"Eh, you know, nothing special. Just a bunch of naked ladies."

"Yeah, because that's not a big deal," she sarcastically quipped. He chuckled and shook his head, rubbing his hands up and down her back, from her shoulder blades down to the inward arch of her back. He loved that spot on her back--that little concave curve where her waist got so small and he could wrap both arms so protectively around her.

"Well, none as pretty as this naked lady," he assured, meaning it. Hoping that this could be the end of their conversation for tonight, not just to avoid an uncomfortable revelation about the incident, but mostly because he was now very turned on by the way her bare legs and tummy were rubbing up against him and her teeth were digging lightly into his lips.

"Anything interesting happen?" she asked between kisses and nibbles. Christ, he thought. He might as well just go ahead and tell her. Honesty was the best policy, right? Mistrust had been their downfall the first time around, so he might as well try rectify it this time. Plus, maybe it really seemed worse to him than it actually had been.

"Well..." he trailed off, rubbing her bare arms.

"What?" She was obviously curious now.

"There was sort of an...incident...I guess...if you want to call it that." Uh oh, he was back-peddling. That always made things seem worse than they were.

"Ross?" she enquired, pushing away from him a little. She'd gone from intrigued to worried.

"No, hey, it was nothing. There was just this thing...with this stripper...and she--"

"She WHAT!" she almost yelled. She didn't like yelling at him, or really even raising her voice to him, but when her fiance had apparently had a 'thing' with 'this stripper' and was hesitant to reveal much else, she couldn't help but feel a little perturbed.

"She kissed me," he deadpanned. Quick like a Band Aid. One motion. Right off.

"What?" she gasped, a hurtful look of simultaneous pain and betrayal shading her face. "She KISSED you?" Her voice and posture reminded Ross much of the way she's looked and sounded when he'd revealed his kiss with Jill--not nearly as upset as she'd been with the momentous Chloe incident, but stunned and obviously jealous, none the less.

"No, shhh," he cooed, shaking his head and stepping closer to her. He placed one hand on her waist and used the other to brush a strand of hair away from her face. She was still stiff, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes averted towards the floor, but he could tell he was warming her up. "Sweety, it's okay. It was harmless."

"Oh, yeah?" she replied bitterly, looking up at him again. "Would you think it was harmless if some half-dressed, really good-looking guy made out with me?" Ross considered this, picturing Rachel lip-locked with some Fabio, Chippendale's dancer type, and he had to admit, the thought did make him cringe. Still, the intention behind the act was what mattered the most. 

"Well, that depends. After I punched him in the face, I'd ask if you kissed him back," he retorted, the response mostly tongue and cheek, though he was really only half kidding. She nodded weakly, understanding where he was coming from, but still not very happy. Giving in a little, she stepped into his embrace, toying with the buttons on his shirt.

"So...you didn't kiss her back?" she asked, her voice small and adorable. He smiled. He couldn't help it. He just couldn't believe she actually didn't seem to understand that he could never be with another woman--even kiss another woman--ever again. Not after her. She was it.

"Sweety," he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief, "of course not. Hey, look at me..." he coaxed, tipping her chin up with his finger, bringing her eyes to lock with his. "You're the only woman I ever want to kiss for the rest of my life. In fact, I could spend the rest of my life ONLY kissing you, and it probably wouldn't be enough."

She was smiling widely, now, seemingly having forgotten what the conflict had even been. For as awkward, and shy, and clumsy as Ross could so often be, he sometimes knew exactly the right words to melt her heart. She ran her hands up his chest seductively.

"Well, why don't we get a head start on that?" she provoked, her voice sultry. She stood on her toes and felt his hands roam across her lower back as she took his lips into her mouth and bit down lightly, sucking and rolling her tongue over it. His hands dipped lower, over her ass, and she moaned slightly.

"I love it when you make that noise," he admitted, his voice full of lust. "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything," she whispered, standing on her tiptoes to bite his ear.

"Well..." he began, reverting back to his usual, less confident demeanor and getting shy. Remembering what he'd said to her right before he'd left that evening, she sensed what he was going to ask.

"Ross..." she began, wrapping her arms around his middle and linking her hands at his lower back. She looked up at him playfully. "Do you want me to strip for you?"

"Yes, please," he eagerly responded, nodding his head and smiling. She giggled.

"Come on," she whispered. She took his hand and led him into the bedroom, feeling his arm tense behind her, knowing how excited he was getting, like a kid being led into a candy store. Before she could even sit him on the bed, he'd already begun groping her in the darkness of their room, grabbing her ass and clawing at the hem of her shirt. She smiled.

Ross sat on the edge of the bed, consumed by anticipation. He was vaguely conscious of the goofy grin plastered across his face, but he didn't care. He was moments away from getting a striptease and lap dance from the most beautiful, sexiest women he'd ever laid eyes on. It was all he'd been thinking about since he'd walked into that strip club. The women on the stage--while beautiful and talented--were not Rachel.

As she began moving, he could sense she'd done this before, though never for him. He found himself getting slightly jealous at the thought of her doing this for some random, unworthy guy, but those thoughts were suspended by the entrancing way her hips were swaying. It was almost as if she were salsa dancing. Where had she learned to move that way? He was well aware of the command and discipline she had over her body when it came to other activities, but he'd never really seen her dance before. She was good.

"Where did you--"

"Shhhh," she responded, shaking her head. "That's my secret."

He was satisfied with that answer, scooting back on the bed and propping himself up against the headboard. He put his hands behind his head, keeping his eyes latches tightly to her. This was the life. He wouldn't move as long as she was.

She's already removed her skirt and tank top, now moving before him in a matching black lacy bra and thong set. If only she were wearing stilettos, he mused. They'd save that for another night.

"Do you want me to take this off?" she teased, referencing her bra. He was unable to do anything but nod.

Then, she changed the pace a bit, climbing on top of him and straddling him on the bed. She braced her hands against the wall behind either side of his head. Touching a striper/lap dancer is usually forbidden, so he'd have to break character to do it, but he didn't care. He couldn't resist. He moved his hands from her elbows, up her arms to her shoulders, down her sides, around her waist, over her back and ass, and back up again. He buried his nose in her hair. He kissed her face. All the while, she grinded her hips and crotch into him, moving rhythmically and circulatory.

"Why don't you do it for me?" she provoked. So he did, unhooking the bra in record speed and flinging it aside, pushing her back a little so he could enjoy the newly exposed expanse of skin. She loved the way he stared so intently. He was mesmerized. More than that, though, he just looked so grateful.

Slowly, she turned around on his lap, her back facing him, and began rhythmically rotating her hips, pressing her ass into his crotch. Behind her, she heard him groan and felt his fingers slightly grazing the skin of her sides. She could tell he was trying his best not to pull her more tightly down--didn't want to be audacious or controlling--but he wasn't succeeding very well. It was like a reflex for him to want to grab her. Executing a move that would secretly turn him on more than anything else she'd done that evening, she reached behind her and took his hands, putting them firmly on her sides, letting him know that it was okay for him to touch her. She wanted that. She might have been stripping for him, and, currently, giving him a mind-blowing lapdance, but this wasn't like that impersonal place he'd spent the evening. This was better. She wasn't one of those girls. SHE was turned on by HIM. She knew him. Cared about him. Loved him. 

"Rach?" he inquired, his voice low and dense, and she knew just what he meant, feeling what he was referring to through his pants. Stopping, she turned around to face him again.

"Well, I guess we'd better get moving, then, huh?" she enticed. She draped her arms around his shoulders and smoothed his hair out with her hands, watching the way his Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed deeply, trying to maintain composure. Then, her mind settled on the way his hands were so tightly gripping her sides. He was holding onto her for dear life.

Suddenly, though, the demeanor of the happening changed. It had been she who'd taken control, initially, but now Ross was flipping her over, situating himself above her. Looking into his eyes for some answer, she could see his intentions there--he wanted to reassure her. He wanted to prove to her that she really WAS the only woman he wanted to be with--wanted to kiss, or touch, or make love to. He wanted to erase any doubt that the incident with the stripper had left in her mind. And she let him do this, secretly knowing she really did need that reassurance more than she was letting on.

"I love you," he whispered, and though cliche, it was appropriate.

It was simple, and sweet, and pure. It was everything she needed to hear, said with the utmost heartened honesty. It was not shallow or rushed, shouted out during a hazy moment of climax. It was whispered delicately into her ear, punctuated by a nibble, during a moment of stillness, where it could not be muted nor undermined. He said it, and he meant it with every thread of his existence, and she knew it. She smiled and cupped his face with her hands.

"I know you do, sweety."

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	11. Chapter 11

A lot of this chapter is kind of just filler before the wedding (and subsequent ending) chapters. Sorry for the hiatus. Hope it's enjoyable. Only about 3 chapters left.

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"Rachel, which one looks better?" Ross asked, walking out into the living room wearing a trucked in, salmon-colored dress shirt and a brown pair of slacks, holding up two different ties. Rachel considered the options as she secured her earrings.

"The solid brown," she decided. He nodded and tossed the other one aside.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Yeah, but did we decide to bring Emma or not?"

"I think this place is a little too nice for a 3-year-old."

"Aw, everyone's going to be so bummed. They were all really looking forward to seeing her."

"Yeah, I know," she admitted, holding onto his bicep for balance while putting on her heels, "but they'll see her in a few weeks at the wedding."

Months had passed, now, since their engagement, and in only a matter of two weeks would they officially be husband and wife. The resort in Barbados had been booked, nearly everything arranged (though 'everything' was not much, as the ceremony would be small), and the guests invited (all 20 of them). Tonight, Rachel's father had managed to book an exclusive room in Trump Tower's Jean Georges restaurant, for no small amount of money. Their 4 friends and Ross and Rachel's parents would attend, and it would not only be a celebratory pre-wedding bash, but also a highly-coveted chance for everyone to catch up.

Emma came padding into the room, rubbing her eyes with a tiny balled-up fist, wearing her new red footy jammies with the teddy bears on them.

"When you go?" she asked sheepishly. Ross picked his baby daughter up above his head and kissed her belly, inciting a small giggle and awakening her from sleepiness. "Daddy, stop it! You being silly!" she screeched.

"We're going right now," he informed, settling her in on his hip, "and I know you're going to be a good girl for Carrie, as always, right?" The little girl nodded and smiled, but also reached out towards Rachel.

"Mommy," she whispered. He lowered their daughter into her arms and watched, marveling at the beauty of it.

"Yes, sweety?" Rachel asked, brushing the girl's soft wisps of dirty blonde hair out of her eyes.

"Where you guys go?"

"Oh, just to some boring big-people restaurant you wouldn't like," she assured. "We save all the fun things for you!"

"Okay," the girl nodded, seemingly pleased with this answer. "Mommy, what this?" She pointed to the shiny diamond on Rachel's ring finger, causing Ross to smile.

"I gave that to Mommy," he chimed in.

"How come?" Emma asked.

"Well..." he considered, wondering how he'd ever explain the concept of marriage to a 3-year-old. "Because I love her very, very much, and I want her to have something almost as pretty as she is," he finally decided on, knowing it would win him some bonus points.

"Nicely done," Rachel leaned up and whispered. "Okay, now off to bed!"

She sent the little girl trotting off towards her loft bedroom with the sitter in hot pursuit before walking out the door for the night, Ross following with this fingers laced lazily in hers.

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The restaurant buzzed with sharply-dressed personnel, the chatter of customers, and the faint, melodic hum of jazz music. In a high class, secluded back room, the walls of which were the color of mahogany, the Geller-Green Clan & Co. had their own little party going on.

Ross sat at the head of the long, rectangular table, with Rachel to his right. He stroked her back and chuckled in private to her, each rolling their eyes at their parents' relentlessness over the wedding.

"Are you sure you don't want to invite anyone else, son?" his father asked.

"Dad, come on, stop it. No. We don't want it to be a big deal. Just you guys and a few close family members is fine," Ross asserted.

"And Joey's going to be officiating again?" asked Mrs. Geller, who still seemed a little queasy with the idea. Ross nodded firmly, though.

"Yes, absolutely." Rachel leaned over to Ross and discreetly concealed her mouth with her hand.

"I think I feel a baby question coming on from Daddy," she wagered, obviously exhausted and irritated at the idea. Ross just smiled and nodded, rubbing her neck.

"Hey, at least he's taking it easy on me, and at least he's acting decently towards your mom," he pointed out, gesturing towards Mrs. Green, who was more than a little tipsy off her string of White Zinfandels. 

"So, princess..." Dr. Green began, and Rachel shot Ross an unmistakable 'I told you so' look, "any plans for what you two are going to be doing AFTER the wedding?" he asked tactfully, flashing a knowing smile.

"Well, Daddy, you know, we haven't really thought about it. Right now, we're just tryi--"

"Oh, honestly, Rachel, it's already taken you 8 years longer than it should have to get married! You need to make up for lost time!" chimed in Mrs. Green. Rachel rubbed her temples with her forefingers and hung her head.

"I knew this was going to turn into a nightmare," she murmured to Ross, who was now folding and refolding his napkin in his lap and squirming nervously.

"Ah, can't we talk about this another time?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood. "Monica! How's the new restaurant going?" he asked.

"Oh, no," she declined, throwing up her hands in front of her. "Don't bring me into the middle of this."

"What? You don't think you're up to the challenge...Mr. Big Shot?" Rachel's father jeered. At this, Rachel looked up and shot a finger out at her father.

"Daddy, you SWORE you were going to stop calling him names after he proposed!"

"Alright, look, everybody quiet!" Chandler finally intervened. "Now, this is about Ross and Rachel and their day. If we can't all be grownups about this, then I think we should probably all just leave."

"Leave?" questioned Leonard, in disbelief. "I paid more than you make in a month for us to be here tonight! Nobody's leaving!"

"And what a happy occasion it is, by the way," Chandler quipped.

"What's that, son?"

"Daddy, he's right!" Rachel all but yelled, bringing her hands down flat against the table. "This wedding is about what Ross and I want, as is this marriage going to be! We're not going to invite anyone just to appease them, and we're CERTAINLY not going to start popping out kids just to please our parents!"

A flagrant awkwardness fell over the group. Ross cleared his throat and, looking over at Rachel and realizing she was about to fall apart, took her hand on top of the table and stroked it with his thumb.

"That's right," he reiterated, "and if you guys have a problem with that, then...well, then, we're sorry."

"Well, then," Mrs. Geller finally spoke, "that's fine, dear."

The sentiment was uncomfortable, and obviously not very sincere, but it maintained the peace fairly well until the entrees came. 

At the end of the evening, when everyone was saying their goodbyes, putting on their jackets and hailing cabs, Ross swore he heard Dr. Green making some comment about his only grandchild being a bastard, but he thought it best not to tell Rachel.

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Rachel shrugged off her jacket and threw it over the couch on her way to the kitchen, flipping off her heels, en route. She opened the fridge and stood in front of it for a few seconds before retrieving a Snapple and heading for the bedroom. Meanwhile, Ross, knowing what a rotten mood she was in, decided it best to keep his distance. He loosened his tie, plopped down on the couch, and turned on the projection screen TV.

Not 10 minutes later--right in the middle of the Discovery Channel documentary--Rachel came raiding out of their bedroom with a scowl on her face and planted herself right between Ross and the television.

Uh oh, he thought. He'd obviously done something wrong.

"What's wrong?" he asked, turning off the TV. She crossed her arms, looking absolutely stunned that he would ask that question.

"What's WRONG?" she yelled. Ross winced at her tone.

"Uh, yeah. What, did I do something?"

"Hm, gee, I don't know, Ross. Do you THINK you did something?"

Oh, God, he thought to himself. That was it. There was no absolutely no chance of survival, now. As soon as she started asking the rhetorical, reverse psychology, manipulative girlfriend questions, he was a goner.

"Look, Rach, I have no idea what I could have done."

"I know you don't! That's because it's about what you DIDN'T do!"

At this point, his jaw dropped open. Was she serious? It was say too late for this--he was too tired and the night had been far too long for mind reading. He knew that was part of the job description for being a good husband, but he had to admit, he had no ideas about this one (like most men in his position).

"Okay, Rach, what didn't I do, then?"

He swore to God, for as much as he loved her, if the next words out of her mouth were 'if you don't know, then I can't tell you'...

Instead, however, he was surprised to see her bottom lip begin to tremble and tears well up in her eyes. Ah, his Rachel. Such a crier. He would normally be worried, but by this time, he'd learned that the problem didn't exactly have to be gargantuan for her to cry. The way she got when she was flustered was actually kind of cute, but he didn't dare crack a smile or tell her that. He'd probably find himself peeing through a catheter, if he tried.

"Rach, sweety, what's the matter?" He considered getting up to hug her, but wanted to wait it out, first. She shook her head.

"I know it's stupid, but..." she began, her sobs picking up as she talked.

"What?" He was actually concerned, and it colored his voice.

"...but you didn't even come see how I was!" she finished.

"What? When?" he asked, his concern turning to confusion.

"Just now! When we came home! You came in here and turned on the TV instead of coming to talk to me! Is this what it's going to be like when we're married? You just--just stop caring?"

Watching her stand there before him, her cheeks flushed and tear-stained, and so obviously upset, he suddenly dawned on him what this was really about. He got up this time and held out his arms to her.

"Sweetheart, come here," he invited, and she leaned against his chest as he enveloped his arms around her and laid his chin on her head. He kissed her forehead for good measure. "I think I know what this is really about."

"You do?" she sniffled, wrapped her arms around his middle.

"It's the same reason you were so upset tonight at dinner."

"Ross, I was upset at dinner because my father's a pigheaded jerk," she reminded him. He nodded and chuckled.

"Well, yes, but I think there was something else, too."

"What?"

"I think the idea of married life is starting to get to you." He was actually surprised with himself for not only being intuitive enough to see this, but for not freaking out and misreading it as a sign of regret.

"What? Honey, that's crazy! I love you! I have no doubts about marrying you." She punctuated this by kissing him firmly on the chest and then neck.

"I know," he nodded, "but it's still normal to start feeling nervous so close to the wedding. I know I did...both times," he joked.

"Hey, what about Vegas?"

"Sweety, I don't think either of us was feeling much of anything that night."

This lightened the mood and they were both able to laugh the somewhat serious moment off, hugging in the middle of the living room and joking. She laid her head against his chest and swayed to a silent rhythm with him.

"I guess you're probably right," she submitted, kissing him on the mouth this time.

Well, of course I am," he beamed. "Now, let's go to bed. It's too late for us old fogies to be up."

As she turned around to head back to the bedroom, he made sure to walk closely behind her, poking her and discreetly grabbing her ass the whole way, causing her to giggle like a 14-year-old school girl being teased by the boy she has a crush on.

"See? Married life isn't going to be any different," he promised, as they disappeared into the bedroom.

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	12. Chapter 12

Sooooo sorry this took so long. Only a few more chapters to go, and the next update will be quicker. Scout's honor.

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"Ross!"

Hearing her yell his name, he'd learned, could either mean very good or very agitating things. Considering that he was currently on the opposite end of their apartment and was not naked, he sighed and braced himself for what could only be another pre-wedding bitchfest. Putting on a happy face, he moved from the office out into the living room to see Rachel emerging from their bedroom with a cordless phone pinned between her cheek and shoulder.

"What is it, sweety?" he'd learned to ask, now a master at feigning anxiety equal to that indicated in her tone.

"The florist and caterer the resort referred us to say they never received the order!"

"What!" he yelled. Okay, so this was actually sort of a significant problem. "Is that them on the phone right now?"

She nodded and handed the cordless to him, exasperated, crossing her arms over her chest and planting herself there to listen, like a little girl pouting expectantly at her father to fix something for her.

"Hello?" he yelled, confusion tinting his voice. Rachel listening as the whiney young woman recited the same annoying monologue back to her fiancé that she'd just heard 2 minutes ago, rolling her eyes.

"What? That's impossible. We put in that order MONTHS ago!" Silence ensued while Ross pretended to listen to the woman's feeble excuses. He shook his head emphatically, plugging his other ear like he was trying to block out nonexistent noise—as if that'd better help him to understand this irrational woman's obviously delusional pretexts.

"No, you listen to me. My fiancée and I are checking into the Sunset Paradise Resort tomorrow afternoon, and our wedding is set for the following evening. Those 500 lilies, 50 pounds of food and dove ice sculpture will BE waiting for us, or I will come down there and explain this whole thing, myself, to your manager. I have our receipt right here with me!"

Rachel cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at him, knowing that last statement was a lie, but he winked and smiled at her and she couldn't help but giggle.

"Okay, good!" he tacked onto the end for effect, pressing the end button and setting the phone down on the kitchen bar with an authoritative slam. Rachel smiled and strolled over to him, wrapping her arms around his middle and kissing him on the mouth.

"Well, that was certainly impressive, Mr. Rachel," she joked, alluding to their post-first-wedding drunken nicknames.

"Why, thank you, Mrs. Ross," he played along, stroking her back. "How's it feel to know you're going to officially be my wife again in 48 hours?"

"Mmm, pretty nice."

She kissed his neck hungrily, sucking and biting on it, causing him to groan from somewhere deep in the back of his throat. Whenever she did that, it triggered something inside him and sped up his sexual aggressiveness to two times what it normally would be, and just when he was considering actually picking her up and placing her on the kitchen counter to continue their little escapade more comprehensively, as if by clockwork, they were interrupted by the soft pattering of little feet.

"Daddy, what're you doing to Mommy?" their bright-eyed daughter asked, looking almost concerned. Embarrassed, having been caught making out for, surprisingly, the first time ever by Emma, they quickly let go of one another and made haste to connive some lame response to her loaded question.

"Err, well, Daddy was just checking me for, uh…Ross?"

"That's right, Emma! I was just checking Mommy for, um…swollen tonsils."

The little girl looked skeptically at the two, somehow intuitively knowing that something in their story wasn't adding up. Just wait, Ross thought. In about 15 years, the tables are going to be so turned, and I'm going to be the one dissecting your lame excuses.

"But Daddy, you check my tonsils before, and you no do it like that," she rather vigilantly pointed out.

"Uh, well, that's because you always check Mommy tonsils differently than daughter tonsils," he informed matter-of-factly, as if the connection were obvious and Emma was being daft for not making it. She seemed to buy it.

"Oh, 'cause Mommy's big and I little?"

"Exactly!" he exclaimed. "Now, you'd better go to sleep. You know what's happening tomorrow, don't you?" he asked his little girl, picking her up and carrying her towards her bedroom.

"We go on plane to the ocean!" she all but screeched, clapping her hands together vigorously.

"That's right! And do you remember why we're going to the ocean?"

"Because you gave Mommy the pretty ring, and I going to carry the flowers!" she exclaimed again, with almost equal fervor.

"Yup! And what else are you going to do while you carry the flowers for Mommy and Daddy?"

"Oh!" she suddenly remembered. "Be quiet when Uncle Chandler holds me."

"Perfect!" Ross kissed her on the cheek before setting her down in her bed. "Night, gorgeous."

"Night, Daddy."

Just as he was flicking off the light, his unknowable little girl whispered something else.

"Have fun checking Mommy's tonsils."

Through the dark, from the doorway, Ross swore she was smiling.

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Six in the morning came awfully early that Friday for Ross and Rachel, who'd spent the rest of their previous night playing a classically flirtatious game of cat and mouse, which had ultimately ended in a marathon of artless caresses and kisses and whimpers that had lasted long into the morning hours. Now, their hair windswept, their eyelids heavy and their veins pumping with the sludge and grain of hard, black coffee, they gathered their suitcases and ushered their daughter into a cab down on the street.

New York, true to its reputation, was, indeed, the city that did not sleep.

"The bridge is a dead end at this hour," Ross commandingly informed the cabbie, sipping his bitter coffee out of the state-of-the-art thermos Monica had given him for his birthday a few years ago. "Take the tunnel."

Looking over at Rachel, her head propped up against the glass window pane, Emma in her lap, both doing their best not to fall back asleep on a morning such as this, Ross couldn't help but be amused by how simple this all seemed—how arbitrary, almost.

Maybe this was why this marriage was the real one—the right one. All of his preceding ones had been so tense, and formal, and contrived, really. He hadn't been able to even enjoy them until he'd gotten right up there to the alter. The whole process had always been a headache.

This, though…this was right. It was casual. It was domestic—like they were just taking a morning outing to the MET. Ross threaded his fingers through hers in the space between their thighs. She didn't even move her forehead from the glass, or open her eyes. She just smiled and squeezed back, knowingly.

She must have felt it, too.

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After being separated into two different cabs, Ross and Rachel reconvened with the others beneath the vaulted overhang of the resort.

Upon walking inside the colossal, seaside bastion, Rachel momentarily forgot all about her resolve upon a private, quaint wedding, swept away in the romantic magnetism of the resort's ambiance. A fairytale of lofty windows looking out of expanses of rolling tides and pristine beaches, never-ending vines of exotic flowers, waterfalls and polished tile gave the illusion of being caught up in some divine parallel universe, where only gods were worthy to dwell.

"Oh, Ross, isn't this gorgeous?" she asked, linking her arm with his as he checked in at the front desk. He looked down at her, starring with such affection that it somehow effortlessly drew her gaze to him, and he smiled contentedly.

"Yup," he agreed, though it was evident he wasn't talking about the resort. She smiled and blushed, secretly proud of her fiancé and knowing the female clerk was watching, undoubtedly very jealous.

"Ugh, that's it," the woman behind the desk scoffed, watching the adorable display of affection, "I'm returning my ex boyfriend's calls tomorrow."

Their suite turned out to be equally as immaculate as the rest of the hotel, which was good, because as they dropped their suitcases and collapsed onto the queen-sized bed, they both knew they were too tired to move for a while. Emma was already fast asleep on the couch in the living room.

"Monica wants to have drinks at the bar downstairs before the rehearsal dinner," Rachel apathetically commented, not even opening her eyes.

"Ah, just what we need—alcohol before another wedding," he joked, coaxing a small giggle from her. She rolled over and flung one arm across his chest, nestling her head beside his shoulder.

"Mmm, weddings are exhausting," he murmured into the sleeve of his shirt.

"Just wait for the marriage part," he joked again. This time she nodded, knowing he was right. That didn't discourage her from looking forward to it, though. "Is Emma sleeping?" he asked.

"Like a baby."

"Well, I would normally suggest that you take off your clothes…" he began, wrapping an arm around her and stroking her back, "but, unfortunately, I think I've finally gotten so tired that even sex can't wake me up."

She smiled and nodded, already halfway asleep herself. She loved just laying there with him like that. She felt his heart beating in his chest. Not only that, but she swore she could also feel it pumping the blood through his veins. She ran her hand against the flat expanse of his chest and stomach, teasingly tucking her fingers underneath the front of his jeans. She felt his abdominal muscles twitch when her fingernails grazed the sensitive skin.

"You know, you can get naked without having sex," she informed, enticingly.

"Well, it is usually preferred…" he quipped, and she lightly smacked his stomach for the joking-yet-typical-guy response.

"Pig!" she playfully accused, smiling and rolling her eyes. He chuckled and tapped her back, beginning a lighthearted game of silly, fun flirtation. Even after all they'd been through, they could still sometimes joke and play and flirt like they were 26 again.

"Oh, come on," he laughed, still half-attempting to block her jokey blows, "I was just kidding!"

"Fine," she relented, placing her hand back where it had been on his stomach and settling in against his side again. After a brief pause, he smiled mischievously and continued the game.

"Good. Now, take off your shirt."

He braced himself for her to hit him again, or yell some teasing accusation, but was surprised when she instead began kissing him passionately, forcing her tongue boisterously into his mouth, wrapping her arms around her neck and brushing her hands through her hair. Though he was tired, there was no feeling in the world stronger than his desire to kiss her, and not many things that could make him stop after he'd started.

He placed his hands on her waist as she shifted her weight on top of him, and ran them up and down her back as their kiss intensified even further and they both began moaning longingly. After a few minutes, Rachel breathlessly pulled away. Laying her forehead against his and smiling at how aroused she'd gotten him, she cleared her throat.

"You know I always win this game," she boasted, kissing his top lip for good measure. The game she was referencing, of course, was the one they played most often during foreplay—the one where they fought to see who could toy with the other more. Ross had made a valiant effort with all the teasing jokes, but actions speak louder than words, and Rachel always claimed her victory on that note.

"Okay," he panted, "you win." He was obviously not very upset. Both of them were clearly 'winning', at this point.

"The rehearsal's in two hours," Rachel noted between kisses.

"And?" Ross detachedly asked, focusing his ministrations intensively on her right earlobe as his hands roamed southbound beneath her skirt. He was merely placating her with the question. He couldn't care less about where her comment was leading right now.

"We have to meet Monica and Chandler…" she continued, as if it were obvious, though her insistence was waning as he sucked harder at her ear. She let out a throaty moan and let her eyelids flutter shut.

"We don't have to have sex…we could just do this," he murmured. This made Rachel smile and gave her goosebumps. The sentiment was so endearing. For as awkward and goofy as he could sometimes be, Ross really was just the most caring, decent guy. The fact that he was opting to just hold and kiss her over indulging in a rushed quickie like most men would almost brought tears to her eyes. She kissed his chest and collarbone.

"Mmm," she whispered, trailing her hands down his stomach, "I love you". He nuzzled her hair and rubbed her back in return.

"I love you, too, sweety."

The moment intensified when he let his hand fall to the bottom of her skirt, brushing the back of her thigh flirtatiously with his fingertips. She began sucking the tight skin of his shoulder with direct proportion to how turned on she was getting, and it didn't take long before his fingers had found their way up to her panty line. She moaned into his mouth with frustration, tightening her grip on his shoulders.

"Don't toy with me, Dr. Geller," she whispered, smiling into his mouth. Just as the pad of his finger brushed up against the sensitive warmth it had been anticipating, Ross' cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket.

"Jesus!" he yelled, surprised by the unexpected sensation, and reached into his pocket for the phone out of reflex.

Meanwhile, Rachel had rolled off of him when he'd jerked to sit up, and was currently lying with her back against the mattress and her hands covering her face in frustration. She let out an annoyed and disappointed sigh.

"This had better be good…" she warned. He nodded and smiled weakly with empathy, placing a comforting hand on her stomach.

"Hello?" he groan, obviously very frustrated himself. Rachel couldn't make what the voice on the other end was saying, but it sounded like an older man.

"Yes, Dr. Geller?"

"That'd be me," Ross affirmed, rubbing Rachel's stomach, sorrier than she'd ever know for having to halt their activities, and already hating this man for being the cause.

"My name's Dr. David Alward, and, before I even begin, let me just say how sorry I am about interrupting your vacation."

"Not just my vacation, Doctor—my wedding," Ross reminded the man.

"Right, right, I know, and I'm so terribly sorry, but I think I have some information that even you might deem worthy of the interruption." Ross looked down at Rachel, her feathery, golden brown hair wisped across her eyes and her chest heaving from the adrenaline they'd made together, and he shook his head.

"That's fairly doubtful, Dr. Alward, but please continue."

"Right. Dr. Geller, I'm head of what the University calls its Intercontinental Exchange Program. It's fairly new within the last few years. Have you heard of it?"

Ross rolled his eyes, as it was now evident that this would not be a short conversation, but attempted to, nonetheless, rack his brain for what this man was talking about.

"Yeah, uh, it sounds vaguely familiar. Refresh my memory," Ross requested, though he didn't actually care about having his memory refreshed, as Rachel had apparently realized the same thing he had about the inevitable longevity of this conversation and had risen from the bed to go check on Emma.

"The program distributes five merit-based grants a year to one professor from the Natural Sciences, Linguistics, Cultural Arts, Mathematics, and History departments. The candidates are selected based on both peer evaluations and, most importantly, extensive background research done by the board on the candidate's work."

Beginning to see where this was going, Ross was becoming increasingly intrigued. Though he'd never heard of this Dr. Alward, he now realized that he had heard of the program. One of his friends in the Geology Department had been sent to Cairo last year on a grant from this board.

"Okay, so, uh, why are you contacting me, then?" Ross asked, though he hoped he knew the answer.

"Well, Dr. Geller, I'd hoped it was obvious, but the selection comity has elected you as the candidate for this year from the Natural Sciences Department."

Ross' blood began pumping vigorously through his veins. His palms were sweating and his heart was beating up in his throat. He could hear and feel it in his ears, even. He gulped loudly and listened. What did this mean? Where did they want to send him? Did he HAVE to go? Did he WANT to go?

"Wow," he whispered. "Um, well, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't flattered, Doctor, but exactly where would I be going?"

"Ah, that's the beauty of the program, Dr. Geller! The grant is for between $500,000-$1,000,000, regardless of the destination. If you choose to accept, you'll be allowed to work cooperatively with the board in selecting a city you feel will be most beneficial to your work. Whether the research is conducted in the field, or a lab, or an office, or a classroom will be entirely up to you."

"And how long does the grant require I stay?"

"Again, it fluctuates with the case, but usually between one and two years. And don't worry about salary. It usually doubles, at least, during the duration of the project," Dr. Alward added with a knowing chuckle.

Ross chuckled in return, but only out of nervous habit. In actuality, had hadn't heard half of what the man had just said. This whole thing had completely blindsided him. One moment, it had been the night before his wedding, and he'd been innocently fooling around with his fiancée before a night of laughter and lighthearted fun with their closest friends. Now, what could potentially be the biggest decision of his career was hanging in the balance, waiting for him to regain his composure. He gulped again, and Dr. Alward felt the tension.

"Listen, Ross," the doctor sympathized, addressing him informally now to lighten the mood, "I know this must have all come as a shock, especially right before your wedding, but I thought it important that you knew immediately."

"No, right, that's understandable," Ross affirmed, nodding his head for no one to see. He cleared his throat and tried to clear his thoughts, as well. "Um, okay, so…when's my deadline? I mean, how long do I have to think about this?"

"Well, you see, that brings me back to why I felt it so necessary to call you immediately. Because the position is so highly coveted, and because there are so many intelligent, capable professors waiting in line, the initial nominees must either affirm or reject the offer by Monday."

"What?" Ross yelled, jumping up from the bed in disbelief. He immediately regretted this, though, as he didn't want Rachel to know anything unusual was going on. Much to his dismay, she came rushing into the bedroom with their daughter in her arms.

"Ross, what's the matter?" she asked concernedly, patting their fussy daughter on the back. Ross shook his head and smiled weakly.

"No, uh, nothing's wrong," he assured, putting a finger over his lips to signal her to whisper. She did.

"Who's that on the phone?" she mouthed, looking suspicious and still kind of worried. He shook his head, letting her know that it was okay and he'd tell her in a minute. Skeptically, she turned and went back out into the sitting area of the hotel suite.

"Sorry," Ross apologized, beginning to pace and running a nervous hand through his hair. "So, um, Monday? As in 2 days from now?"

"Yes," the man avowed bluntly. Ross let out a huff of air somewhere between a snicker and a cough.

"Alright, well, uh, look, I'm going to have to obviously talk to my fiancée about this, but…" He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "I'll call you by noon on Monday."

With that, he closed the phone, collapsing on the bed in a pile of confusion and anticipation.

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	13. Chapter 13

Rachel ambled back into the bedroom, this time without Emma, looking visibly concerned about the phone call. She crossed her hands over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, the darkness in the bedroom contrasting with the light from the living room, casting a shadowy silhouette over her figure. She looked at Ross laying with his back against the bed, his arms stretched out to his sides, lost in deep thought. She wasn't even sure he knew she was there.

"Ross?" she asked expectantly, swallowing and licking her lips.

"Huh?" he mumbled. He didn't even turn his head to look at her.

"Who was that on the phone?" She was now thoroughly shaken by this incident, somehow certain that the news was big and potentially life-altering. She hadn't seen Ross this upset or distant in years. Finally, he turned his head slightly. He couldn't make eye contact, because all he saw was the pitch black outline of her shapely curves against the door's luminous canvas. He hesitated, debating whether or not to tell her before the wedding.

He had to. The decision had to be made by Monday, and the wedding was Saturday. One day wouldn't be enough time. Even at the risk of upsetting her before their big day, a part of him believed that upsetting her the day after might be even worse. He didn't want to start their first day as husband and wife off on the wrong foot.

Sitting up on the bed, he licked his dry lips and patted the mattress beside him, motioning for her to sit down. She walked slowly across the room and did so, accompanying him with a cautious tenseness. When he finally got a good look into her eyes, he saw something almost like fear, and he hated that.

"Ross, what is it? You're scaring me." Immediately, her words reminded him of that day over a year ago at the airport, when he'd raced against time and reason for hours at dizzying speeds to stand before her and profess his love. She'd told him he was scaring her. He'd been scared, too, just as he was in this moment.

"Rach, I, uh…I kind of have some big news…" he began, taking her hand in his and stroking the back of it with this thumb.

"Is something wrong with the wedding?" He couldn't help but smile. Of course that would be her first question, as it was undoubtedly her biggest fear right now. He shook his head profusely, assuring her nothing was wrong.

"No, no, it's not that. It's just that, um…"

"Who was on the phone, Ross?"

He paused for a moment, staring intensely at her. He wanted to avert his eyes, afraid of diving headlong into what he was sure would be a very long, involved conversation—it deserved to be. This was weighty stuff—huge, potentially lifestyle-altering stuff. He just didn't know what he was getting into—with her or with his career.

"It was someone from the University," he started, looking down at where their hands were intertwined on her thigh.

"Is something wrong at work?" she guessed, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow. She studied the way he looked so nervous. She wanted to be a part of whatever this was that was obviously eating away at him. Had he been fired?

"Rachel, they want me to move," he finally blurted out, looking up at her and meeting her eyes with his. His gaze matched the intensity of the situation, and he didn't dare break the contact, afraid any sign of weakness—a falter or a flinch—might render him incapable of finishing this.

"What?" she whispered, her face contorting to one of her patented looks of disbelief. She dropped his hands. She was physically taken aback.

"I've been nominated as the recipient of a grant that requires me to live abroad for at least a year, either teaching or performing research," he finished explaining, these words coming out just as bluntly as his first. He had to be as professional as possible in all of this—couldn't allow himself to get either too excited or dismayed. First, he had to know how she felt. Right now, it was nothing more than words. "So…they want me to move."

Silence.

"Do you want to do this?"

There. The definitive, million dollar question had been asked.

"I, uh…I honestly don't know," he admitted, laughing at how absurd that sounded. With something as huge as this, there should be no ambivalence. "I mean, my salary would be guaranteed to double… and it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, that's for sure, but…"

He shook his head and shrugged. He was having a hard time organizing his thoughts. He probably should have made an effort to do that before bringing this up with her. Classic Ross—speaking before thinking.

She cleared her throat and let out a quick chuckle of disbelief, shaking her head and turning away, unable to look at him. She knew what the 'but' was—"but then there's you". Why did she feel like this was all being pinned on her? What did it all mean, and why was everything suddenly so complicated? Why now? Sighing deeply, she stood up from the bed.

"Aren't you going to tell me what you think about this?" Ross asked timidly, looking up at her for some sort of feedback. That was, after all, why he'd told her so immediately. She scoffed at this, turning around to face him.

"Ross, how do you expect me to have an opinion about this if you don't?" she asked coldly—maybe a little more so than she'd intended. She hadn't meant to sound so rude, but she hated the way this was playing out. She knew it was going to inevitably rest on her shoulders, and the situation was all a little too familiar. It hit a little too close to home.

"I'm sorry," he whispered feebly, looking down at his hands in his lap again. He knew just what this was about—it was unspoken between them, but it was all either of them could think. The similarities between the two situations were striking and undeniable.

"I mean, Jesus, Ross," she continued, shaking her head and beginning to pace around the room, "what do you expect me to think?"

"I don't know," he admitted. And he really didn't.

More silence. She was standing at the foot of the bed, now, as still as a statue with her hands covering her face. This was all suddenly such a mess.

"How long do you have to decide?"

God, she sure knew how to cut to the core of a tense condition. Every question she asked was making it all the more difficult.

"Two days," he whispered.

"What?" she whisper-yelled, employing that special parent technique of screaming without raising your voice as to not wake the sleeping child in the next room. Rachel was a pro at it.

"I know, I know," he empathized, now rising from the bed himself and holding his hands out in front of him as a peace gesture. "Look, Rach, I know this couldn't have come at a worse time, but please don't be mad. I only told you because I want you to be a part of this. We're a team, now, remember?" As he said this, he walked closer to her, taking her hands in his at their sides. "You and me," he recited, bringing her hands to press them against his chest. "This is it." It was all she could do not to smile at the way he recalled her words exactly. She couldn't break the somberness of this moment, though. The context was far too serious.

"Ross…" she pleaded, almost angry at him for the way he somehow always managed to break her. She couldn't keep her head straight and remember all the things she wanted to say when he was holding her hands in his like that, so tenderly stroking them, and planting the occasional small butterfly kiss on her fingers. For a moment, she closed her eyes and let her head lull to the side and almost let herself forget about the…

"Ross, no!" she snapped, regaining her composure and pulling her hands away. "Stop it! You can't just kiss me and make it all better!"

Dead silence. They both stopped dead in their tracks at the realization of what she'd just said. She knew it immediately, as soon as the words left her mouth—maybe even slightly before. Every part of this conversation, almost, seemed to be from their arguments past. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, taking a step back.

"Rachel…" he entreated, taking a step forward to close the space she'd just created. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and starred at her until she was forced to meet his gaze. "Please…tell me what you want me to do."

She hated that. She hated how thoughtful he was being—or, at least, how thoughtful he thought he was being. She knew he only wanted to make her happy, but she couldn't make this decision for him.

"Ross…" she whispered. He could see how they'd glossed up as tears were threatening to fall. To assure him that she wasn't as upset as he probably thought, she placed one hand on his chest. She shook her head. "I can't do that. I can't make this decision for you."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, obviously confused. "Of course you can. Rachel, we're getting MARRIED tomorrow. You're going to be my WIFE…" Though he'd been making a point, he forgot it when he heard himself say those words aloud. He couldn't help but smile.

"I know," she nodded, smiling, too, "but like you said…this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I can't—"

"I stopped you," he interrupted.

"What?"

"It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance for you, too, and I stopped you. It could have skyrocketed your career and I…I asked you to stay…for me," he reminded her, and as the words spilled more rapidly and confidently from his mouth, he regretted them more and more. He shook his head in disappointment, though even he wasn't sure whether it was at himself or at her.

"Ross, don't make this about that," she defied him, shaking her head. "This is different."

"No it isn't!" he yelled, and she saw the wetness beginning to well in his eyes as he raised his voice. "It's almost exactly the same, Rachel, except that I was too selfish to let you go and you're being too stubborn to ask me to stay!"

"I'm being what?" she yelled, this time not even attempting to keep her voice down. She was more shocked by these words, possibly, than anything else he'd ever said.

"Stubborn!"

"Ross, I don't think I have to remind you that I'm in this just as deep as you are! Whatever decision you make, it's going to affect me, too, not to mention our daughter! Wherever you go, that's where I'm going, too! It's not the same at all!"

"Oh, isn't it?" he asked. They were both waving their arms and yelling, now. It was officially a full-fledged fight. "This marriage means a lot of things to the both of us, Rachel, and it's going to mean a lot of changes, but one thing it's NOT going to change is how deeply we're both involved in this! It wouldn't have mattered 10 years ago, and it won't matter tomorrow that we took a few vows in front of our friends! I would have asked you to stay then and I asked you to stay this time! And if you'd gone, I probably would have followed you, so don't say it's different just because it's official now, because that's NEVER mattered with us and you KNOW it!"

Rachel was stunned into silence. Tears were streaming down her face, though she wasn't actively crying. The words Ross had just said were either the most offensive or most endearing things he'd ever said to her—she wasn't sure which.

Both were afraid to say anything more for a few minutes. They just stood there like that in silence, standing off against one another, both secretly listening for signs of their daughter stirring in the next room. Finally, when it was evident that they'd come to a stalemate, Rachel made eye contact with him again.

"Ross, you know, you're probably right. When it comes down to it, the two situations probably really AREN'T that different, but that does NOT change the fact that I refuse to make this decision for you. You want to know how I really feel?"

"Yes, please," he encouraged, nodding.

"Okay, fine. I think it's an amazing opportunity. I think it could probably change your career if you used it in the right way. But, Ross…we have friends in New York. We have family there…" she lectured, taking a particularly poignant pause before her next statement, "…we've MADE a family there. These are all some of the same reasons you asked me to stay, and, you know what? I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't be a little disappointed if suddenly your career was more important than mine."

There. She'd said it. She'd finally spoken of the unspoken issue. Both knew that was the can of worms this whole thing was resting on—the significance of their separate careers—but it took Rachel, in a moment of gutsy resolve, to push it into the spotlight. Normally, Ross might have felt a little ashamed, or even offended, but he knew it'd been coming. It was inevitable.

"Do you have any regrets?" he asked quietly.

At this, Rachel's look softened. The muscles in her face had been tense and clinched, painting a stern expression across her face. When he'd mumbled this question so feebly and almost sadly, though, something inside her broke a little. She stepped into him and leaned against his chest, placing her arms around his neck and kissing his lips softly.

"Of course I don't have any regrets, Ross," she whispered, shaking her head. "That would mean having to regret this…and I could never regret this."

He smiled a little, placing his hands on her waist and leaning his forehead against hers.

"Ross, when it comes down to it, I'm just as ambivalent and confused about this as you are. I don't really know HOW to feel. And I'm sorry…I know this decision is going to be a tough one, and not a very fair one, at that…but it's yours to make. As of tomorrow…" she finished, kissing him on the chest before pushing away and taking a few steps backwards out of the room, "…I'm along for the ride."

She smiled empathetically before disappearing out of sight to go check up on Emma. Great, Ross thought. An hour-long fight later, and I'm still just as confused.

"Come on," she coaxed, sticking her head back in the doorway and smiling tenderly to let him know everything was going to be okay. "We have to meet Monica and Chandler before the rehearsal."

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	14. Chapter 14

A white gazebo, entangled with lush green vines and light purple lilies, sat atop a cliff in Barbados. In the distance, the Atlantic rolled on for miles of green and blue and sometimes almost purple, the sun setting, minutes away from crashing into the sea. The horizon was painted with oranges and reds, ignited in soft, cloudy flames, and as the natural lighting died, it was replaced by strings of small white Christmas lights and candles strewn indiscriminately about the ceremonial area.

A string quartet, consisting of a harp, violin, cello and guitar, idly strummed Pachelbel's Canon in D as the guests were seated, whispering polite greetings and waiting anxiously for the elegant ceremony to begin.

The groom and "priest" were already front and center, Joey wearing a simple black tux and Ross wearing a tux with coattail, similar to the one he'd worn with Emily.

"Nervous, buddy?" Joey whispered, smiling and patting Ross encouragingly on the back. Ross smiled stiffly, obviously very nervous, but didn't tear his eyes from the door of the pool house several yard away. He knew Rachel was inside, and when she exited, in a matter of minutes, both of their lives would change forever. He shook his head, realizing that he was really only thinking one thing at this moment.

"I just want to see her."

Inside the pool house, Monica wiped tears from Rachel's eyes and smiled proudly.

"Honey, your mascara's going to run," she warned. Rachel nodded and grabbed a tissue, shaking her head.

"I know, I just…ah," she sighed, unable to finish. "This is just so…"

"We know," Phoebe finished for her, nodding understandingly and rubbing her back. She and Monica did know. Everyone knew. She was marrying Ross. Ross—the only man any of them had been able to see her marrying for the past 10 years. This was huge. It was almost surreal, it was so long-awaited.

In the back of Rachel's mind, the news from last night was still haunting her. She wasn't regretful or even doubtful of Ross' decision-making, but she was anxious about their future. She knew without a doubt that, wherever they ended up, they'd be together…and she supposed that was all that mattered, in the end.

She'd told both Monica and Phoebe about the call Ross had received, and they could tell she was distracted, undoubtedly thinking about it.

Sweety…" Monica cooed, "don't worry. Everything's going to be fine."

Rachel felt guilty, not only for being so obvious about her worrying, but for worrying in the first place.

"No, I know," she assured. "It's not really that. I guess I'm just, you know…flustered," she laughed, wiping one last tear away and throwing aside her tissue.

"Rach," Phoebe intervened, resting her hand on the bride's arm, "today's not for worrying, okay? The only thing you should be thinking about is the fact that your best friend's about to meet you at the end of that aisle. I mean, how lucky are you?"

Upon hearing this, Rachel let out a soft noise that was half laugh, half sob. She nodded and hugged both of her best girlfriends, whispering giggled "I love you"s and taking a deep breath before she linked an arm with her father and stepped outside of the pool house, the inaugural notes of an acoustic version of "With or Without You" humming through the dusk.

When she came to the beginning of the aisle, the guests at their feet and watching the precession begin, she locked eyes with Ross for the first time that day…and her breath was literally taken away.

Staring back at her from underneath the flowered arch of the gazebo, Ross' mouth fell open. For all the years he'd spent drooling over Rachel, he'd never seen her look more beautiful. The dress was not a conventional, conservative wedding dress, but was slender and sleek to match the warm weather. It was simple—a satin bodice and a sheath skirt, spaghetti straps and a low neckline. Her hair was down and wavy, framing her face in soft blondish ringlets. She was barefoot, as were all the girls in the wedding party. Her skin glowed, tanned and soft and almost sparking. Tears moistened his eyes.

Rachel waited for Jill, Amy, Phoebe and Monica to be escorted to their places by two of Ross' colleagues, Jack Geller and Chandler, respectively, and for Ben to hold Emma's hand as he helped her scatter the flowers to the front. She bit her lip and smiled widely at her daughter and step-son. Once at the front, Ben went to stand beside Chandler and Monica held Emma. The wedding party at the front made a picture perfect scene, the girls in simple, short summer dresses of variant pastel colors, and their corresponding male counterparts in tuxes with matching pastel cummerbunds. It was far from the colossal, staggeringly expensive wedding she'd almost had so many years ago to a man she'd never loved…but it was simple, and beautiful, and finally right.

When the Wedding March began playing, her father squeezed her arm tightly and the guests rose to their feet, all smiling in awe at her radiant beauty. Everything was a haze—the guests, the music, the rhythmic rush of the ocean wave, the beautiful surroundings. By the time she reached the front, leaving her father's side to stand before Ross, her vision was blurred by tears. He took both of her hands in his and gave a reassuring squeeze. Joey cleared his throat.

"Friends and family, we're gathered here this evening to celebrate the joyous and long-overdue union of Ross Eustace Geller and Rachel Karen Green." Ross and Rachel smiled between themselves at Joey's inclusion of "long-overdue". Boy, did they know. The crowd also chirped with muffled "really"s and "tell me about it"s. Joey continued with the speech that Ross and Chandler helped him write.

"Because they feel it would be impossible to sum up their history and love for one another, they've asked their friends to do it. So, a little unconventionally, the people closest to Ross and Rachel have written their vows for them, and I will read them now."

It was true—Monica, Phoebe, Chandler and Joey had all gotten together at Ross and Rachel's request a few weeks ago to write a short summary of their relationship. Since some of it was too personal to find a common ground, an objective third-party perspective of their story was decidedly appropriate. So, a short and sweet address was written, cutting to the core of a very complex chemistry.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Joey continued, "this moment has been in the making for, believe it or not, 21 years." He paused while the effects of his statement really sunk in. "Before Ross was old enough to drive, he knew what he wanted with more certainty and devotion than most 40-year-olds, and, as all of you have eyes and are looking right at her…well, you can probably see why he wanted it."

The crowd laughed, including the wedding party…and Ross. He squeezed Rachel's hand and watched her blush in the adorable way that he knew she would. He had to physically restrain himself from reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear or stroking her cheek. Something warm rose in his chest and welled up in his eyes. He was glad he had Joey read his speech. He knew neither of them would have made it through.

"Alas, it wasn't until 10 years later, after a college graduation and a failed marriage for each, that fate gave these two a real chance. Young and uncertain, no older than 26, but with more love than any of us could have imagined, they finally embarked on what we were all sure would be the last relationship either of them would ever be in.

Sadly, due to…circumstances…" Joey stammered, concealing his grin, as did the rest of the onlookers. Almost everyone present knew just what those circumstances were, and why they'd remain unnamed. Everyone searched for some sort of reaction in Ross or Rachel, but both remained calm and collected, unaware of anything but one another. That particular fight just didn't matter anymore. "…their relationship ended. Their love, however, did not.

Through 7 more years, these two endured fights, break-ups and make-ups, the likes of which most people have even never imagined. Somehow, they even came out on the other side with a beautiful baby girl. And through it all, they were possibly the only two people in the whole world who couldn't see that they were supposed to be together.

Maybe their story isn't the most conventional one. It might not make the most sense. Hell, they really aren't even that much alike! But it has one of the happiest endings imaginable…and we all know that it's been destined from the start."

Though not usually customary at weddings, the crowd clapped after the "vows", causing both Ross and Rachel to lose it. Both began crying freely, and didn't stop until the ceremony was over. Ben presented the rings for exchanging, and Joey capped it all off with a few words to make it official.

"Now, with the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife," he beamed, smiling from ear to ear and placing a hand on Ross' shoulder. "Kiss her!"

And he did. He placed his hands on her waist and hers around his neck and they kissed slowly for a few guests, the guests looking on in silent envy.

"I love you," he mouthed, almost silently, against her ear when he pulled away, squeezing her stomach to emphasize. She giggled and nodded, taking his hand and walking quickly with him down the aisle as the exit song bellowed loudly. The guests threw graffiti on the wedding party as they processed.

Back in the pool house, they took a few minutes alone for themselves while the guests headed towards the reception and the camera crew set up for pictures. Ross closed the door quietly and slowly behind him, turning to face, for the first time, not only his Rachel…but his wife.

She seemed to float towards him, throwing her arms around his middle and kissing him deeply, the way she'd wanted to but hadn't in front of all their friends and family. She practically backed him up against the door with her force.

"We did it," she whispered, her voice filled with contentment but also amazement. He nodded, stroking her back.

"I know."

He allowed a few moments for this to sink in, during which he kissed her forehead and swayed with her to silent music. Then, he answered the question that had been in the backs of both their minds, this whole time.

"I think I've decided on something."

She pulled away and looked intensely at him, searching for an answer. She was confident in him, but also curious.

"And…?" 

"I think I'm going to take the job…" he began slowly, his eyes never wavering from hers. He didn't even blink…but she did. Her heart dropped a little. She was happy for him, but…

Before she had time to really dissect his decision any further, he finished his sentence.

"…in Paris." 


	15. Chapter 15

Okay, REALLY coming to the end of the line now. I know I probably said that a few chapters back, but I only anticipate one more chapter after this one. Most of the drama is over, as the main dilemmas have passed on. Hope you've enjoyed it.

This chapter rated (a strong) R.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"What?" she whispered, searching his eyes for meaning.

"I called the board earlier this morning and told them I'd only take the job if there was one for me in Paris…and there is," he explained with a simple smile.

Rachel's eyes began to water. She wasn't sure she was hearing him correctly, and this had all happened so fast. She placed a hand on his chest to steady herself.

"Ross…" she trailed off, too stunned to even speak. He stroked her arms.

"Please tell me this is something you want," he coaxed, his voice filled with compassion and a very evident wish to please her.

"I, um…I need to sit down." Her voice small and confused. She lowered herself onto a chair behind her, staring straight ahead, lost in thought. Ross kneeled down in front of her and placed a hand on her thigh.

"Listen," he began, rubbing her leg, "I can't believe I'm actually about to say this…but I think you should call Mark when we get back home."

This suggestion definitely caught her attention, cutting her reverie in half and prompting her to look at him straight in the eye. She saw nothing but loving warmth and hopefulness there. She could tell he really wanted this for her.

"Ross, sweety, this would be amazing," she finally spoke up, placing her hand over his, "but…"

"But what?" he asked, when she didn't really have an excuse.

"There's so much we don't know! I mean, I doubt the position Mark promised is even open anymore, and I lost the lease on the apartment I'd found, and…"

"Shhh, honey, look…I know there's a lot we don't know, but we can find it all out! We'll make some calls when we get back to New York and see just how realistic all of this is. Nothing's been decided yet, but…I really want this for us…for you."

Smiling widely, she shook her head, not at his proposition but at his propensity for making her smile and knowing exactly what to say. When a silent tear traveled down her cheek, he brushed it away with the pad of his thumb and she laughed.

"I've been doing that a lot today," she joked, referring to her crying. It WAS her wedding day—it was to be expected. "Boy, a lot sure is changing, isn't it?"

"Not unless you want it to" he replied.

After a long pause, filled with a little more deliberation by Rachel, she finally stood up and nodded her head.

"Okay…okay, I think we should try this," she affirmed.

"Yeah?" he asked, smiling and settling his hands on her waist. She nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Yeah, I think it could be really good."

"Rach, that's great! Oh, I'm so happy we're going to try to do this."

"Okay, well, come on! Tell me about this big shot job they're offering you over there!" she asked enthusiastically.

"Well, uh, all they really told me was that the position was at the National Museum of Natural History, and that I'd have opportunities to guest lecture at the American University of Paris. Other than that, I don't know, I guess we'll just have to see."

"Yeah, well, we're going to have to wait and see about a lot, I guess."

"How about, for now," he proposed calmly, taking her hand and guiding her toward the door, "we just enjoy the rest of our wedding day..."

"…and night," she finished for him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Back in their hotel suite that night, after an exceptionally long reception, filled with drinking and dancing and laughter, the newlyweds began winding down. Ross got out of his tux has quickly as possible, changing into a pair of comfy khakis and a plain navy blue t-shirt, while Rachel (regretfully) hung up her wedding dress in exchange for a little white sun dress. 

"Well," Rachel sighed, "I guess the wedding's over."

Ross, sensing she was probably going through the same thing Monica did after her wedding, pulled her into a big hug and kissed the top of her head.

"Ah, but the honeymoon's just beginning," he joked. She smiled playfully and cocked an eyebrow at him, running her hands up and down his back.

"Oh yeah? Well, what do you suggest we do first?"

As if she even needed to ask. Before she hardly get the words out of her mouth, he was already sucking on her neck and kissing her bare shoulder, pulling at the hem of the short dress. She giggled and pushed him away.

"No, come on! We have another 3 days for that! It's only 11, and I don't want this day to be over yet," she whined. He sighed, disappointed and a little frustrated, but nodded to placate her.

"Okay, okay. How about, uh—"

"Oh, I know!" she chirped, clapping her hands together. "Let's get everyone together and go swimming!"

"Sweety, isn't that a little dangerous? You know, after sunset is the prime time for shark attacks on the Southern Atla—"

"Oh, don't be such a baby," she scolded, pushing him towards the bathroom. "It'll be fun! Now, put your suit on and I'll call everyone and tell them to meet in the lobby in 10 minutes."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The group of seven, including Mike, had found a seemingly abandoned and serene patch of beach about a quarter mile away from the cliffs. Joey brought along a cooler of beer and Monica, at the last second, thought to borrow a stereo and a few lanterns from the hotel. They had their own little exclusive party going on by midnight, wading in the tide, drinking beer, laughing and listening to the radio. They'd left Emma with their parents for the evening, all four of whom took the opportunity to ogle over her.

The stereo was emitting sounds of, appropriately enough, "Swallowed in the Sea" off the new Coldplay album.

Down in the water, Ross and Rachel waded up to their waists, Rachel giggling when the occasional wave would loft their bodies upward, and Ross somewhat warily looking around for signs of sharks.

"Will you stop that?" Rachel reprimand. "There are no sharks! We're like 4 feet in! You can still see the bottom!"

"I'll have you know that, just last week, a little boy in Alabama, swimming in the Gulf, was atta—"

Rachel silenced him by wrapping her arms around his back and kissing him deeply, practically toppling him backwards. They sunk into it, both literally and physically, falling to their knees in the water and submerging themselves up to their shoulders.

"Hmm," he moaned when they finally parted, "I guess I'll just take my chances." She patted him on the chest and nodded.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I have a surprise for you," he revealed.

"Oh, really?" She seemed very pleased with this, getting excited in that typical Rachel 'I love surprises' sort of way. She draped her arms around his neck. "What is it?"

"I made some calls today during the reception…" he began, dragging her along. She looked excited and intrigued, but her face still dropped a little.

"Come on, Ross, you shouldn't have done that. I thought we agreed we weren't going to deal with this until we got home."

"Yeah, I know, but I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I knew I wasn't going to be able to enjoy myself until I sorted some things out, so…I made some calls," he explained, and from the way he was faintly smiling and rubbing her back, the news must be good, she thought. She couldn't resist asking.

"Okay, well don't leave me hanging. What is it?"

"Well, I had to pull a few strings, but between calling Ralph Lauren and—"

"What? You called my work? Ross, what if I can't find a job in Paris? God, that wasn't smart! Now I'm going to—"

"Shhh, sweety, relax. I didn't tell them who I am—well, not who I REALLY am, anyway," he smirked, obviously proud of himself. "Your name was never mentioned."

Rachel was stunned. She couldn't believe that Ross, of all people, had actually managed to pull something off smoothly. She was still skeptical, though.

"Okay…tell me more…"

"Well, to make a long story short, I managed to get in touch with Mark…"

"And…?" she asked, taking a deep breath.

"…and he said the job's still yours, if you want it," he finished, smiling with both his mouth and eyes. It wasn't long before she was smiling, too, from ear to ear, and tightened her arms around him for a hug.

"It's almost too good to be true, isn't it?" she whispered, leaning her head against his. "I mean, it's us! Things never work out for us!" she joked.

"Well, I guess things are changing…"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They got back to their hotel room that night just before 1, having to practically rip Emma away from their parents. After tucking her in, they retreated to their bedroom to wash up from the ocean and settle down for the evening.

They rinsed off in the shower and dried their hair, Rachel insisting on blow drying it, for which Ross made fun of her, joking that she had to get ready even to go to sleep, while all he ever did was strip down to his boxers.

"That's why I'm prettier than you, sweety," she playfully quipped, slipping into a pair of white boy-short underwear and a small white tank-top.

She laid down on top of the comforter on her stomach, turning the TV to a movie channel and smiling to herself. She knew even the insinuation of watching television on their wedding night, instead of doing other things, would drive Ross insane. Sure enough, when he emerged from the bathroom to find her (pretending to be) watching "You've Got Mail", his jaw dropped to the floor. He'd been promised an unforgettable evening of mind-blowing sex…

"Uh, what are you doing?"

"Hm? Oh, I love this movie!" she exclaimed, feigning ignorance.

"Are you kidding me?" he asked incredulously, his voice monotonous and his stare blank.

"'Bout what, sweety? Do you want to watch something else?" She smiled challengingly at him, not backing down from her little flirtatious routine.

"Uh, yeah, how about you taking your clothes off?" he quipped, obviously teasingly but also with a definitely hint of eagerness.

To further his point, he jumped onto the bed on top of her, holding his weight up with his arms on both sides of her, but still proceeding to kiss the back of her neck vigorously. She smiled to herself, feeling a definite bulge beginning to grow and insinuate itself firmly against her ass.

"You mean you hadn't rather watch Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks get it on?" she asked sarcastically, still not giving in to his advances.

He decided this question didn't even deserve a verbal response, instead opting to answer by slipping one finger into the waistband of her underwear, grazing the skin just above her ass with his knuckle. He knew how sensitive that spot was. All the while, he continued sucking and biting vehemently on her neck and down her back. Rachel closed her eyes and let the sensation wash over her. Slowly but surely, she could feel herself getting wet and goosebumps tickle her skin.

"Mmm, okay," she finally whispered. "I give up."

"Mm hm," he smugly acknowledged between kisses and bites. "Thought so."

He made his way down her back to her waist and finally to where his finger was tracing circles. When he placed his mouth there, massaging the skin with his tongue, he felt her tremble a little and heard her breath hitch. She moved to turn over, but he laid a strong hand on her back to stop her.

"No, don't," he directed. She wondered what he was about to do.

Boy, she thought, if only she'd known in high school that, beneath his shy, awkward exterior, he was such an unbelievably amazing lover. He'd mastered the equilibrium between assertiveness and tenderness. He knew exactly when to demand things of her—when to be aggressive—and when to be passive and gentle. Right now, judging by the way she was squirming and moaning softly, he knew to take control and be assertive…and that's exactly what he was going to do.

He removed the little yellow boy-shorts (though he hated to see them go) and slid two fingers gently inside her, causing her to arch her back and lift her ass off the bed, giving him better access. She groaned as he alternated between licking her in long, even strokes and pushing his fingers in and out of her.

"Holy shit, Ross!" she screamed. She had to bury her face in the covers to keep from waking up Emma.

After a few minutes, he stopped and moved up to put his face beside hers. Her eyes were still closed and she was panting heavily, her face smothered to the mattress. He smiled at what had obviously been work well down, settling beside her and propping his head up on his bent elbow.

"Ah, why didn't you finish?" she huffed, not sounding exactly disappointed, but definitely sexually frustrated from being pushed to the edge and then having him stop. He tucked a stand of hair behind her ear and slid his thumb into her mouth, watching her roll her tongue around it. God, he loved her mouth.

"I didn't want you to cum that way," he whispered, licking the shell of her ear.

She took a minute to recover, rolling over onto her back and closing her eyes. He laid his head on her chest and intertwined his fingers with hers, kissing her collarbone and listening to her breath. Tonight would be slow and drawn-out. They'd take their time— he'd take his time with her. If ever a night deserved that, it was their wedding night.

"You looked beautiful today," he whispered. "I could barely believe it."

"You could barely believe I looked beautiful?" she teased, giving him a hard time.

"You know what I meant. I love you so much."

"I love you, too, baby," she whispered back, stroking his hair.

He rolled over on top of her, lifting the tank top over her head and pushing her legs far apart to accommodate himself. She helped him undress himself and he began the act almost painfully slowly, teasing her by dipping in just a little and then withdrawing, causing her to moan and squeal, and then pushing in completely the next time, taking her by surprise.

After a few aching moments of his slow teasing, he gave into the contortions of her face that told him she needed more and was tired of waiting, so he kissed her deeply and picked her up in one swooping motion, hooking his arms under her knees and supporting her weight with his hands beneath her ass. He stood up suddenly from the bed with her and turned to press her against the nearest wall, causing her to yelp a little from surprise. The way he could support her weight so seamlessly and easily turned her on to no end.

"Oh, wow, you're good at that, aren't you?" she smiled, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and engaging him in a deep, fiery kiss as he thrust into her roughly and deeply, banging her back hard against the wall. She groaned with his succeeding thrust, clawing at his back and moaning a breathy "yes" or unintelligible "ugh" into his ear every now and then.

Still not satisfied with how much he thought he was pleasing her, and determined to make this the longest, loudest, most satisfying, most versatile lovemaking session they'd ever engaged in, he moved them again, this time to the chair in the corner.

With her legs still wrapped around his waist, he moved his arms from under her legs to merely holding her, his hands against her back, and sat down on the chair with her straddling his lap. This whole time, they never broke their kiss, their tongues massaging one another and slowing down a little.

"Go slowly," she commanded, lowering herself onto his dick and moaning from deep in her throat when she took him in to the hilt. They both knew this position was practically the only one she could orgasm in, but she still wanted it to last, and knew he'd instinctively try to please her as quickly as possible if she didn't tell him to take it easy.

So, he wrapped his arms around her back and buried his face in her chest and reveled in the feeling of her rocking slowly back and forth and in lazy, careful circles. He'd lower his hands down to her hips every so often and enjoy the way she moved them so deliberately, like she was mastering a dance. He groaned a little when she arched her back, biting down on her shoulder to stifle a particularly loud outburst. He could taste the salt on her skin. As far as he could tell, it was the closest anyone would ever get to actually tasting 'sexy'.

"Rachel…" he muttered, trying to let her know this pace was killing him. He needed to thrust harder—to cum inside her. He'd been painfully hard for over half an hour now, and the suspense and build-up was getting to him. He wanted to finish, and to make her finish.

"Okay," she breathed through a smile, amused at his impatience.  
She let him place his hands firmly on her ass, watching his biceps and forearms in awe, the muscles contracted beneath his skin as he slid her quickly up and down his shaft.

She had to admit it felt amazing, even though she was a bigger fan of slow sex, as he increased the pace and thrust harder. She couldn't resist the urge to meet his thrusts, pushing down on his cock as it slid up into her. She let out an especially loud, drawn-out groan when he came inside her, pushing her over the edge and causing her to follow in suit.

They sat like that for a few minutes after, with his face buried in neck and stroking one another's backs. Finally, she stood up, forcing him to pull out of her, and lead him over to the bed. They climbed in and knotted themselves up in one anther.

"Bet Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan can't do THAT for you," he joked.

"No, monsieur," she muttered. In French.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 


	16. Chapter 16

Have no fear…there will be one more chapter after this one…The Epilogue.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Not two months later, Ross and Rachel found their nearly brand new, once spotless apartment half empty and cluttered with boxes. All of the superfluous, decorative items that made their house a home—picture frames, candles, throw pillows, books, movies, CDs, and most furniture, for that matter—had already been packed away. The only items remaining were the ones absolutely essential to daily living, as they'd be officially moving the next morning.

Then, they'd shut the doors forever to the penthouse they'd refurbished and reconstructed all for themselves.

Ross was on the phone with the dean of the board in the barren living room, standing (as there was no longer really any place to sit) amongst the boxes and bags. As he hung up the phone, Rachel approached him from behind and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his back.

"I'm sad," she whined.

"I know." He turned in her embrace and kissed her forehead.

"What did he say?" she muffled against his chest. Ross exhaled deeply, obviously going to be very happy when the commotion and stress of all this was over.

"Well, I apparently have a week to move in and get adjusted before my first day at the museum. Also, they've set up a meeting for us with an interpreter when we get there to help us sort out the apartment stuff."

"This is going to be exhausting, huh?"

"Yep, sounds like it. What did your people say?"

"I don't start for two weeks after we get there, which is good, I guess, because it'll give me time to find a good preschool for Emma. Oh, but I did find out our apartment is, like, 10 miles from my office," she huffed, rolling our eyes. "Boy, nothing's easy, is it?"

"But, you know, when this is all over, it'll be so worth it."

"Mmm, I hope so," she whispered, hugging him tightly before walking away back into the kitchen. "So Monica said they'd be here around 7 tomorrow morning," she yelled back at him. Their friends had insisted on driving them to the airport. Their car had already been shipped.

"And what about tonight?" he asked, following her into the kitchen to help box away the last of the utensils and appliances. "You know, you still haven't decided what you want to do on our last night in New York."

At this, Rachel scrunched her nose up in dismay. She hadn't wanted to think about it. On the one hand, she kind of wanted to just spend the night at home, saying goodbye to this place they'd built and she felt belonged only to them, now. On the other hand, she didn't want to waste one moment away from the city. She loved this city—in a way, she'd really grown up here.

"Hmmm, well, you know, I think there's really only one thing we can do."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Rachel pushed Emma's stroller through the double doors of Central Perk around 6 that night with Ross trailing right behind them. She looked around and smiled nostalgically.

It was only their third time going back there since they'd moved, and maybe their last ever.

Ross instinctively went to the counter to order coffee for himself and Rachel, while she staked out their seat on the couch. She watched her husband's conversation with Gunther. They were undoubtedly talking about the wedding, which made her smile, but she couldn't help but notice how their interaction seemed detached and vaguely indifferent. They were almost like strangers now, to the people here—to this place. They knew no one here, anymore, and that thought saddened Rachel.

Ross placed the big multicolored cups on the table in front of them and brought Emma to sit on his lap.

"You remember this place, Em?" he asked, bouncing her up and down on his knee. She shook her head timidly, grasping her teddy closely, and he smiled and kissed her forehead. She was in one of her shy moods—probably because she DIDN'T remember this place. "You were only a baby the last time Mommy and Daddy brought you here."

"Do you think we'll ever come back here again?" Rachel asked suddenly, her eyes fixed on nothing in front of her, her mind seemingly somewhere else. The question jarred Ross, who honestly didn't know how to answer.

"I don't know" he admitted. It seemed impossible that they'd never see that place again, but sometimes…people just move on. They were in their mid thirties and married with a daughter. What's more, they were moving to another country in less than 24 hours. Sure, they'd be back to visit their friends and family, but they wouldn't be coming to the coffee house when they were 60. Who's to say how much longer it would even be open for. Nothing's forever. 

Rachel laid her head on Ross' shoulder, and he could sense the sadness and serenity that had washed over her. While they were both so excited about this next chapter, they was mourning the loss of this life they'd known so well. They'd been losing touch with it, little by little, for years. Once they'd had Emma, they could no longer be carefree like they'd always lived. Once they'd gotten back together, they'd shut the door on single life forever. When they'd moved away, they'd physically left it all behind, and now with Paris…it was like the last in a long series that made up one slow, painful goodbye.

"You okay?" he asked, kissing her forehead. He put Emma back in her stroller, noticing her head begin to lull from sleepiness, and wrapped an arm around Rachel. He swept her bangs out of her eyes.

"Eh, I've been better." Her voice cracked a little. He sighed deeply and nodded.

"I know."

They sat like that for a little longer, letting their coffee get cold. Neither especially felt like drinking it. It had only been ordered out of habit. They watched the 20-somethings that made up a majority of the café's customers scurry busily around them, sipping their lattes, bitching about failed dates and first job interviews, and laughing for no reason at all. That had been them once…forever ago.

"Maybe we should go back," Ross suggested, not wanting to just sit there and sulk. The sadness was festering and ruining their last night. "We should probably put Emma to bed soon, anyway."

"Okay," she agreed, nodding and quickly wiping a small tear from her eye. Ross threw a few bills on the table as a tip before they left.

Strolling back, hand in hand, neither spoke for a long time, both a little disconcerted that their last trip to the coffee house had been so much less reassuring than they'd hoped.

"I'm glad we did that," Ross initiated. And he really was. It was good closure—something they hadn't always been good about getting for themselves. He squeezed her hand with reaffirmation.

"Me too," she nodded, still a little lost in thought, but she squeezed back and smiled weakly. She shook her head. "This is all just a little scarier than I though it'd be."

Ross didn't say anything. He only nodded. He knew this was hitting her harder than it was hitting him. He was more or less ready to start their new life together. Hell, he'd been ready to have a wife and family since he was 15—ironically enough, this specific wife and family. He was sad to be leaving, but harbored no regrets and really no trepidation. He'd just have to be the rock for the both of them for once, he thought. Usually, it was Rachel who grounded him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

When they got back to the apartment, Emma was already completely zonked out, so they put her to bed a little after 8 with the intention of finishing up packing and going to bed, themselves, shortly afterwards.

Ross packed away the remaining items in the kitchen—folding the glasses over in paper and rounding up the silverware—but could tell Rachel was still somewhere far away. She wasn't crying, but her eyes were wet and he could tell she was on the verge. He hated seeing her this way. It almost made him think she was regretting their decision. He knew he couldn't take it personally, though. Rachel was just an emotional girl.

"Sweety, why don't you get some fresh air," he proposed, nodding towards the balcony off the kitchen and placing a hand on her back. "I'll finish up in here."

"Okay," she whispered weakly, setting down the wine glass she'd been holding absentmindedly and heading for the double doors.

When Ross finished packing everything away, he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves and went out onto the balcony. He found Rachel with her back to him, leaning against the railing, looking out over the city. He came up behind her and kissed her shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around her middle.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Mmm, hi," she replied, closing her eyes and leaning back against him.

"You gonna to be okay?"

"Yeah," she sighed, nodding. "I'm just…thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"How quickly everything's change…where I was a year ago, and where I am now…" she trailed off, shaking her head and looking down at her hands folded on the railing. This troubled Ross a little. Was she suggesting that she wasn't as happy with her life now?

"Rachel…you don't…I mean, you're not regretting anything, are you?" he asked feebly, a little scared of her answer. So much had happened recently, with them moving in together, and getting married, and now this move…Would she have been happier just getting on the plane the first time?

"Oh, Ross, no," she insisted, turning around to face him. "God, I'm sorry if I made you think that, sweety. Of course I don't regret anything." She linked her hands around his neck and kissed him gently.

"Good," he nodded, rubbing her back. "I was a little worried there for a minute."

She leaned her head against his chest and moved her hands down to wrap them around his middle, hugging him tightly and swaying a little in the gently summer breeze of the night.

"It's getting kind of cold out here. You want to go to bed?" he suggested.

"Yeah," she yawned, as if on cue, having gotten sleepy just from standing there like that in his arms.

He surprised her by picking her up in his arms, causing her to giggle. He carried her back through the house, turning off lights on his way, and set her down on the bed in their room. Initially, before getting up to get ready for bed, he just laid on top of the sheets beside her, stroking her stomach and burying his face in her hair.

"Mmm, I love you," she whispered, her voice just barely audible.

"You too," he answered, punctuating the sentiment by kissing her firmly on the side of the head.

"And thank you for being so supportive. I want this…I promise," she assured him, wanting to alleviate any of his concerns about how she really felt.

With that, he got up and stripped down to his boxers, brushing his teeth in the bathroom while discreetly watching her strip down to only her panties out in the bedroom, smiling to himself. She was gorgeous, and sexy, and hot, and flawless…and all his. Those Frenchmen would undoubtedly be all over her, and would probably laugh once they found out he was the American geek who somehow managed to bag her, but that notion made him giddy more so than jealous.

He turned off the lights and got under the covers beside her, nestling up to her back and snooping cozily with her. He kissed her cheek, and jaw, and neck and listened to her whimper lightly under his touch.

"Speaking of wanting things…" he quipped, running his hand down her stomach and over her thigh suggestively.

"Mmm, honey, we've got a long day tomorrow," she protested, batting his hand away playfully.

"Oh, come on, you can't get all naked like that and then hold out on me! Is that how the French would do it?" he whined, nudging his pelvis forward into her ass. She giggled, happy that the tone of the evening had finally settled on lighthearted.

"Oh, I'll show you how the French do it."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Stay tuned for the epilogue 


	17. Epilogue

FIVE MONTHS LATER…

Ross flipped through his notes early that Tuesday morning at the breakfast table, sipping his coffee and preparing for an especially long day of conferences at the museum, followed by teaching two seminars at the American University of Paris that afternoon. He'd left Rachel in bed to let her sleep another half hour, since their usual alarm clock didn't go off until 7:30.

However, his reading was interrupted by two feminine hands settling on his shoulders and a warm kiss on his cheek.

"Morning," she whispered, coming to sit beside him at the table.

"Morning," he greeted in return, smiling at this wife of almost 6 months. They were still in that domestic bliss stage, where they loved to get up early just to see the other off to work, and make breakfast in bed, and sneak passionate morning quickies, just as they'd done about an hour ago.

"You're up early," she noted, sipping some of his coffee.

"Yeah, I've got an early meeting. Are we still on for tonight?"

"Yup," she confirmed, pulling her satin lilac-colored robe more tightly around her.

There was a candlelit concert and dinner for museum employees in the garden across the street that night, and they'd managed to find a sitter for Emma so they could attend. Rachel looked out of the window to her left and over into the garden they'd be at that evening.

They'd ended up in an apartment just across the street from the National Museum of Natural History. It overlooked the Jardin des Plantes on one side and the rue Cuvier on the other. Equipped with a sweeping balcony and upscale but comfortable furniture, mostly neutral colors, the apartment fit right in with its surrounding upper middle class neighborhood in Paris' 5e district.

"Mommy!" they both heard Emma whine from her bedroom. Rachel smiled and got up to go check on their daughter. On her way out, she kissed him firmly on the lips and ruffled his hair.

"See you tonight."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Bonsoir, Madame," Marie sang, greeting Rachel at the door that evening at 7:30. She was not only their permanent sitter for Emma, but also their French teacher, a pretty 20-something just out of college with a thick French accent but very good English. She gave a joint lesson to Ross and Rachel three times a week for an hour.

"Bonsoir, Marie. Entrer, s'il vous plait," Rachel greeted, swinging the door open for her and turning back inside to finish getting ready. She put in her earrings and disappeared into the bedroom to find shoes. "Ross will be here any minute. If you could feed Emma before putting her down, that'd be great," she yelled at Maria from the bedroom.

"Certainement, Madame Rachel."

Just then, Ross came in through the still opened door, carrying a bottle of wine and his briefcase.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur," Maria nodded toward Ross.

"Bonsoir, Maria. Où Rachel est-il?" he asked, wondering where Rachel was.

Before Maria could answer, Rachel emerged from their bedroom holding Emma. Ross was taken aback by how beautiful she looked. She was wearing a long, fitted, strapless black Gucci dress with the diamond necklace and earrings he'd bought her for her last birthday and strappy black heels. Yet, she still had their daughter sitting on her hip. She could do it all, and it made her all the more sexy.

"Nous serons arrières à minuit," Rachel informed Maria, handing Emma to her. She'd told her they'd be back by midnight.

"Take your time, Madame Rachel," Maria smiled politely. "And your Frances is getting better."

"Merci, Maria," Rachel thanked her. "Hey, sweety," she greeted Ross, placing her hand on his chest and kissing him quickly. "You want to go change really fast, and then we can go?"

"Yeah, hold this." He handed her the bottle of wine and she looked confused. "It's for afterwards." He smiled at her suggestively and stroked her arm as he passed her. She couldn't help but giggle.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Jardin des Plantes was illuminated that night with strings of lights, and candles, and lanterns. Small private tables for 2 and 4 were scattered around a stone patio, a single candle surrounded by rose pedals as the centerpiece of each. Waiters hurried from table to table, taking orders and serving food, and a quaint little band sat at the center of all the tables.

Ross and Rachel walked through the rod iron gate and down the cobblestone path to where the event was sat up, at the heart of the garden. They were seated at their assigned table and ordered two glasses of wine to start.

"God, this is so gorgeous," Rachel whispered, leaning in towards Ross, still very self conscious about speaking English in public, even after 5 months.

"Yeah, it really is," he agreed. They were quiet for a minute, taking it all in. Then, Ross cleared his throat. "So, I've got some good news," he beamed, smiling from ear to ear.

"Oh, what is it?"

"Well, uh, Professor Barclay offered me a permanent professorial position at the University when my interim is up at the museum."

"Oh, Ross," Rachel smiled, taking his hand across the table. "So that means…"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "We can stay here as long as we want."

"Well, that's good, because I was wondering how I was going to tell Louis Vuitton I'd have to leave in 7 months."

"So you want to stay?" he asked, hopeful, his eyes lighting up.

"Of course! I love it here! Great shopping, great food, great apartment, great schools. Why not?" she chirped. He smiled and leaned over to kiss her, brushing her bangs out of her eyes like he always did. She was so positive and reaffirming.

In the quiet that followed, they noticed the band keying up for a slow song and other couples strolling to the dance floor down in front. Ross smiled at his wife and extended his hand to her, not even having to ask. She took it and they walked to the front. They found their way to the middle of the crowd, amidst all the other swaying couples, and Ross placed one hand on the small of her back and took her hand in his other, holding it to his chest. She wrapped her free hand around his neck and laid her head against his chest.

"I can't believe this is our life," she whispered.

"Me neither," he agreed. "It seems like just yesterday, we were scared little kids, just out of college."

"I know."

Silence. Music.

"So that's what the wine was all about," she wagered, smiling mischievously up at him.

"Eh, maybe…" he chuckled, "…and maybe because I was hoping to get lucky."

"Hmm, maybe…" she teased, flattening her hands over his back.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

When they got back to the apartment, a little before midnight, they paid Maria and sent her on her way. Rachel checked on Emma to make sure she was sleeping soundly and then joined Ross in the kitchen for some wine.

He'd taken off the jacket he'd been wearing, removed his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He looked sexily disheveled, she noted, and smiled to herself. Aging suited him well, though he still wasn't very old. She had to remind herself, sometimes, that they were only 35 and 36 years old, they'd experienced so much. Other times, however, like when they were making love or walking in the park or hanging out with their friends, they still felt 25.

"That dress is amazing," he complimented her, pouring a second glass of red wine as she waltzed toward him and handing it to her.

"Well, I'm glad you like it. It only cost a month's rent," she joked, taking the glass from him.

"Oh, speaking of rent," Ross initiated, stroking her arm lightly and sipping his wine. "I wanted to run something by you."

"Hmm?"

"I was thinking, maybe when I'm done at the museum, we could move to a neighborhood outside the city…" he proposed, quickly taking another sip from his wine, hoping his suggestion went over well. A lot had been happening lately. He didn't want to rush anything.

"Yeah, maybe," she nodded. This caught him off guard a little, but excited him. He hadn't been expecting that response, in all honesty.

"Really? 'Cause I was thinking maybe something in the Neuilly or Levallois arrondissement—"

"Shhh," she smiled, putting her finger to his lips. "Why don't we worry about unpacking all our things here before we talk about moving again," she teased. He nodded and smiled, kissing her finger.

"Come to the balcony with me," he whispered, taking her hand. Just like in their old apartment, there was a balcony right off the kitchen. It faced the garden where they'd just been.

They set their wine down on the intricately carved barrier and looked down at the street below and the dying stages of the party they'd just attended. Ross positioned himself behind her and placed his hands firmly on her stomach, kissing her shoulder with an open mouth, massaging the bare skin with his tongue.

"Mmm," she moaned, tilting her head to give him better access when he moved up to her neck. She absentmindedly swirled the wine in her glass with her finger, and when he noticed, he brought that finger to his mouth and licked the wine off. "I think Paris made you more romantic," she giggled.

"Well, it definitely made you hornier," he retaliated, referring to the way she practically jumped him, anymore, when he got home in the evening.

"Hey, in my defense, that was marriage, not Paris."

"Damn, I knew I should have proposed the first time we dated," he joked.

He was still occupied with her neck. The back of her dress was open to just above her ass, so he slipped one hand inside and tucked it around to press it against her stomach. She moaned when he moved his other hand down to stroke her thigh.

"You know, Emma's getting better at the walking thing," she warned him, but not wanting him to stop. He moved his hand slowly up to where her legs met and caressed her through the fabric of the dress.

"She always sleeps through the night," he reminded her.

"Ahh, okay," she gave in, sighing when he sucked on that very specific spot just below her ear. She turned around and kissed him passionately on the lips, trying to take his hand and move him inside, but he wouldn't budge.

"No," he breathed between small kisses. "Here."

"Here? Ross, people can see…"

"Shh," he quieted her, silencing her protest with a hard kiss and beginning to unzip her dress. "No one's watching."

Though she knew there was no possible way he could know that, the way he was kissing her and stroking her back made her not care. The warm summer air felt nice against her bare skin, and the balcony was dressed with ferns and plants and flowers to obscure most of what was happening.

They rushed to remove their clothes, and Ross actually only got down to his boxers before she reached inside and began stroking him. From then on, he was too consumed in the act to ever remove them. He propped her up on the wide, conveniently waist-high railing behind some vaguely private hedging and she wrapped her legs around him, still wearing the stilettos, upon his special request. He felt the sharp heels digging into his back and it egged him on, as did her whispers and moans.

When they were done, he collapsed against her and they took a few moments to regain their composure before she jumped down off the railing. She started to collect her clothes and go inside, but he stopped her.

"Wait. I'll be right back," he insisted. When he returned, he was carrying the big white sheet from their bed. He sat down in the ground and brought her to sit between his legs, wrapping his arms and the blanket around them. They sat that way, with her back against his chest, under the Paris moonlight and the caresses of the summer breeze.

"This is really nice," she whispered, stroking his arms that were wrapped around her. He buried his face in her hair and smiled. It was nice. He could get really used to this.

Lulling his head over to the side, he looked on down the street below them, taking in the sights of Paris at 1 a.m. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen it at this hour before. Suddenly, something very familiar jumped out at him, and he had to smile.

"Look," he nudged Rachel, gesturing toward the street sign two blocks down.

Madison Avenue.

They were home.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO The End. 


End file.
